


The Dinner Date

by shinyhuman



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief Anne/Mariana relationship scenes, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Gaslighting, Unhealthy Relationships, but only in the Anne/Mariana bits, fake dating au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhuman/pseuds/shinyhuman
Summary: When Ann Walker moves back home to live closer to her sister, she becomes friends with her handsome neighbor Anne Lister.She develops a crush that will never be requited—ever, because Anne is engaged—but when Anne offers to pretend to be her girlfriend to ease the family drama, Ann is forced to confront her feelings or bury them forever.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 177
Kudos: 365





	1. A Neighborly Neighbor

A broken air conditioner was not something Ann wanted to deal with on the day she moved into her flat. Ann rarely cursed, but the combination of a hot, humid day and the stress of moving wore her down until there was nothing left to do. She leaned the massive canvas against the wall and caught her breath before whispering quietly to herself, “For fuck’s sake. Just go on the nail.  _ Please _ .”

The movers had arranged everything haphazardly. It took Ann hours to move her boxes out of the way of her furniture and rearrange her couch and bookshelves flush against the wall. She did this thrice. On one wall, her bookcase was five centimeters too long, and on the other, three too short. The vision she had when she first toured the flat folded to reality. She wanted the couch and the bookcase together on the same wall, but she would have to learn to love them across from each other. It sickened her. 

On top of it all, her sister sent her a text inviting her to a family dinner later that week. Ann hated the monthly dinners, which threatened to turn to weekly dinners since she was living so close. Seeing the kids and Elizabeth was a treat, but her husband’s family were vultures. They tore at her bit by bit with questions that were more taxing than they seemed—when will you finally date a man? Don’t you want an easy, happy marriage? You get along so well with the children, don’t you want your own? 

Elizabeth never fought for her. Ann understood—her husband was a terrifying man, and quick to anger. He kept Elizabeth isolated from most of her friends. Ann felt a responsibility to her sister to attend. 

Still, Ann played the fights over and over in her head. She muttered witty, scathing replies she’d never summon the courage to say in the moment. Elizabeth’s mother-in-law’s awful face took hold in her mind’s eye. Ann imagined her terrified expression when she finally said the thing that would make her shut up forever. She didn’t know what it was, but thinking that it existed calmed her.

The afternoon wore on, and the heat took its toll. Ann’s t-shirt clung to her skin with sweat and her denim shorts grew uncomfortably warm. She needed to change before it got any worse. The sea of boxes before her looked wild and intimidating, like an obstacle course designed especially for her.

Digging through the boxes to find her clothes was a nightmare all its own. When packing, she somehow thought it appropriate to divide her clothes—why did she have so many clothes!—into boxes marked for the kitchen, the bathroom, and even sandwiched beneath her board game collection. Ann unpacked every t-shirt she owned until she finally found her summer dresses in the kitchen with her drinking glasses rolled inside them. 

She determined the least wrinkled garment and threw it over her head, smoothing out the crinkles at the waist. A firm knock on her door jolted her out of her frustration. She looked at herself in the reflection of the glass to quickly fix her hair and grimaced at the sight. Her face was blotched red from the heat, her hair undone and sticky with sweat, and her dress sloppy and wrinkled, but it would have to do.

When Ann opened the door, her greeting lodged itself in her throat. 

The woman leaning casually on her doorframe was shockingly handsome. Ann knew she was staring, but couldn’t take her eyes away from the curve of her biceps and shoulders or the way her shorts accentuated her muscular thighs. She begged herself to look up, and when she did, it was almost worse. 

The woman’s long, brown hair was tied neatly back. A red flush colored her cheeks, but she looked otherwise unbothered by the heat. Something about the brown of her eyes was familiar. Ann met her before, or saw her, but couldn’t place where.

“Hi, Ann,” the woman said. Her deep voice made Ann flush, but not from the heat. “It’s been a few years. I thought I’d stop over and tell you how delighted I am to be your neighbor again.”

Ann knew she would replay these precious moments over and over in her head to torture herself when she was supposed to be sleeping. She knew, and yet could not stop herself. She was destined to make a fool of herself in front of this woman every time they encountered one another.

“Anne? The last time I saw you was…at my parents’ funeral,” she said.

Anne said, “I’m surprised you remember. It was a horrific thing—such a terrible tragedy. You had so much on your mind.”

Ann gasped, “Oh, no, you were—” 

She bit her tongue before she said something too embarrassing. Anne was dashing. Kind. A radiant presence on a terrible day. The most vivid dream she ever had was of Anne that night, holding her hand, and the unforgettable way her touch made Ann’s heart jump out of her mouth. Anne was Ann’s untouchable crush as a girl. Why wouldn’t Ann remember?

“You made me laugh. Everyone else was so depressing,” she finished.

“Oh?” Anne said. A smile played on her lips. “That’s surprising. I’m rarely told I’m funny.”

“Well, you were—you m-made me feel—I don’t know. Like it w-wasn’t all so bad.”

Ann could have scooped out her own eyes from embarrassment at the way she stuttered. Talking to people made her feel so stupid. Anne must think of her like a child.

When she looked back up at Anne, Anne was smiling. Ann blushed. She hoped the heat hid the flush of color creeping over her cheeks and ears.

“Do you need help?” Anne said, looking past her and into the disheveled living room. 

Ann tore open boxes during her search, and now clothes, books, and decorations burst out like confetti. Her shelves were bare and the doors thrust open, as if by a powerful gust of wind. She almost refused the offer, then her eye caught the canvas she set aside.

“It’s so hot. I’m a mess, trying to get everything together,” Ann explained sheepishly. “I would love to borrow your height to hang some paintings, if—if you don’t mind.”

“I would love to,” she said, rubbing her hands together and pushing invisible sleeves up.

Ann giggled and said, “See? You’re funny. You make me laugh.”

“That says more about me than you—you must be easy. Either way, it’s the beginning of a great friendship,” Anne declared. 

Ann willed her smile not to fall. Being with Anne was so easy. It made sense for Anne to see her as a child instead of a peer. She was only fourteen when Anne last saw her. She needed to set her girlhood crush aside. 

Setting aside attraction was difficult, however, when Anne stood half-naked and sweating beside her. She held the canvas aloft while Ann lined up the nails. The breeze from the windows changed, and suddenly all Ann smelled was the heavy, wonderful, intoxicating scent of Anne’s sweat and her eyes nearly rolled back. 

Ann nearly slapped herself.  _ Friends _ ! she thought sternly.

They stepped back to admire their handiwork. Anne’s elbow brushed her arm. Her body buzzed from the touch, and she froze. Beside her, Anne rubbed her bottom top with a finger, unaware of the bolt of lightning that passed between them. 

“That looks good,” Anne said. She noticed Ann looking, and smiled tenderly. 

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Your company was enough. No need to thank me,” Anne said, waving her hand.

Ann protested, “Oh, but I’d like to! Could I at least offer you a beer?”

Anne nodded, and she scrambled to the fridge. Its only contents was a small case of hard iced tea. She cursed herself for not keeping something someone like Anne would drink—an IPA, a Hefferveisen, anything else. She handed Anne the can with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry—I like the sweet ones,” she said.

“Just like you,” Anne teased, taking it. 

They stood in a comfortable silence for ten or fifteen minutes, then Anne spun a conversation from the little things—where she’d been all these years, what brought her back, what she liked to do for fun. Ann never thought to return the questions until it was too late and the moment had passed. Her stomach churned as the conversation wore on, worried that Anne thought of her as boring or narcissistic. 

But Anne always brought her back up with a smile. Ann rarely felt this way with another person before. She struggled to describe it, at first, but it was like Anne cared. Like she actually thought Ann’s thoughts and life and happiness mattered. 

After about an hour, a female voice called from Anne’s room down the hall.

“Anne? Where are you? It’s time to go.”

“That’ll be Mariana,” Anne explained quickly. “My fiancée. She’s got a work event tonight. Her family’s big in the medical field.”

“Anne? Oh. Hello,” Mariana stopped outside the door. She glared at Ann, giving her a once-over, and said, “Anne, please stop messing around. You know we’ve had this planned.”

Anne set her empty can on the counter. She said, “I do. As you saw, I set out my shirt on the bed so we can leave whenever you want—”

“ _ That  _ shirt? Oh, no, I put that away. Anne, we’re going to see my parents, we have to look—I don’t know—I just think you should wear something else. For me?”

“If that’s what you think,” Anne said, her chipper tone was unchanged, but a wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. When the woman left, Anne muttered, “Sorry about that—usually she’s much kinder. She’s a little stressed by this…gathering.”

Ann already disliked her. At the tip of her tongue was, “I wouldn’t care about a shirt! You can go to any gathering with me wearing nothing but a sports bra and that smile.” But the horror she felt even thinking it stopped her. Even drunk, she was never that impolite.

Instead, she said, “Oh. No, she seems nice.”

Beaming, Anne said, “Then the two of you will get along famously. I’ll have you over for lunch sometime.”

Based on approximately two seconds of knowing Mariana, Ann doubted that very much. She didn’t like the way she treated Anne. Maybe it was a touch of jealousy, but something seemed...off. 

“ _ Anne _ !” Mariana called again from the hallway.

“I’d best be going. Don’t want to get into trouble,” Anne said, winking.

When she left, Ann decided it was time for a break. The list of her problems only grew. She ticked them off on her fingers: a broken air conditioner, a looming family dinner, and now Anne, a woman who stole her heart years ago, but was uninterested and unavailable. Her breath was utterly taken away. 

Friends. Friendships could be strong, loving, and emotionally fulfilling. She could do that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Another iron in the fire for me. My plan for this fic is for it to be chill and easy. Shorter chapters compared to my other fics, a pretty basic classic-to-the-trope plot, nothing fancy. Just feel-good enjoyment for all of us. Every fandom needs a basic fake-dating AU, right? This is that.


	2. Marigolds

Anne knew Mariana’s parents disapproved of her, yet each time Mariana took her ring off in the car it tore her heart open anew. They were on and off for years, but after the proposal, Anne had hope. She thought they were finished playing games.

“Mary, let’s just tell them. Let’s get it over with,” she pleaded.

“Before the dinner? God, can you think of a worse time?” Mariana replied with horror. “Sorry, that sounded awful. I just mean—can we wait?”

The conversation always went like this. Anne brought it up—admittedly at the wrong time, when Mariana’s head was spinning with her own troubles—and Mariana ended it by asking her to wait. The sharp, defiant “no” she wanted to say sat burning on her tongue. 

Instead, Anne said, “Fine. But we need to talk about it soon.”

“We will,” she promised.

Anne didn’t believe her. They avoided the conversation for weeks at a time, regardless if Anne started it in the car outside her parent’s home, in the kitchen after breakfast, or in the afterglow of sex. Mary always pushed it back, back, back. Anne almost wished she refused the proposal and they could be done with the whole thing then and there. But the meager droppings of hope and affection kept Anne crawling back.

Anne was weak for her. Everyone had at least one flaw. 

Once there, they ascended the wide stone steps arm-in-arm. Mariana looked stunning in her gold-and-black dress, and Anne couldn’t help but think that this is what their wedding might feel like. It was grand. Elevating. And—she reminded herself—holding the powerful woman beside her was worth the irritation she endured. 

Still, the rings burned in her pocket.

The Belcombe’s business dinners were always in this same building, walled by stone and glass and wide tables on polished wood floors. Before the dinner, guests were encouraged to mingle. Anne went to enough of these to know that small talk preceded dinner and business talk followed it, and she would be allowed to walk in Mariana’s circles before and not after. 

Anne loved to entertain the guests with stories and words of wisdom. It was her specialty, and one of the reasons Mariana loved to bring her to the events. She could strike a conversation with almost anyone and, often, came away impressing them. Mariana kept her grip on Anne’s arm while she introduced her to new faces over and over.

“And this is Charles Lawton,” she whispered, gesturing to a burly older man sipping a scotch at the next table. “My parents are hoping to secure his support with our next project. They’re doing everything they can to convince him that we’re the right choice. He might save us.”

The Belcombe’s business, which manufactured medical equipment, was struggling. Anne offered her business knowledge and expertise, but her parents refused to share more than minor details with her. Mariana insisted that was because they wanted to hire a professional, but Anne knew they didn’t trust her.

When they approached his table, Anne extended her hand to him.

“Hello, Mister Lawton, I don’t believe we’ve met. Mary and her family speak very highly of you. My Name is Anne Lister, and I’m Mary’s—”

“Very good friend,” Mariana interrupted. “We’ve known each other since we were children. She’s practically family.”

Anne’s blood boiled at the interjection. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment, anger, and all the words that churned in her belly. How dare she. If they weren’t in public and in front of a potential investor, the resulting argument might have ended them for good; Anne wouldn’t have cared about how harsh her words sounded.

Instead, Anne continued with a smile, “Yes, our closeness made our relationship a no-brainer to the family. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I see that,” he said, taking her hand and returning the smile. 

Anne felt rather than saw her fiancée stewing beside her.

When they left Charles’s table, Mariana spun her round. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you hate that, but we don’t know what he thinks! Her might have disapproved of—you know,” she said, gesturing between them. “I just wanted to be safe.”

“If he feels that way, maybe your family shouldn’t take his money,” Anne snapped.

Mariana didn’t speak to her all through dinner. Anne fought to keep a smile while she chewed through her cut of overcooked steak, soaking it in as much gravy and sauce as her plate could handle to make it palatable.

“Can you not eat like an animal?” Mariana whispered sternly. “You don’t have to do that. You could just _pretend_. You’re at the family table—people are passing by. They can see you.”

“It’s not as easy for me as it is for you. _Pretending_ ,” Anne sneered. “I am who I am. An animal, clearly. Not good enough for you. Perhaps you could give me some tips on being—"

“Anne, trust me, this steak is beyond saving. It’s unbelievably dry,” said Mariana’s brother Steph.

He spoke loudly from across the table, and Mariana frowned at him. Steph spit out his bite in a napkin, and their younger sister beside him gagged and swatted his shoulder. He caught Anne’s eye and gave a friendly wink. They shared a smile. Anne was relieved for the distraction—Mariana’s siblings were the only family members that seemed to like Anne at all. 

He continued, “I don’t know how you’re swallowing it, Mary. It’s like eating sand.”

“Between the two of you, it’s like we’re eating at the circus,” she scoffed.

When the dinner ended, Charles approached Mariana’s parents, who gestured for Mariana and Steph to join them. Anne was too far away to hear what was said. While Mariana and her parents followed Charles with increasingly animated conversation, Anne remained at the family table, entertaining Mariana’s younger sister.

“Your dress looks divine, Miss Belcombe. The color matches Mary’s. Did you plan it? I always tell her, it brings out the little flecks of gold in her eyes.”

The sister really was very pretty. Unlike Mariana, her sister was a bit dull and balked at any conversation that threatened to dip below the surface. Anne could never marry a girl like that, but enjoyed how easy it was to catch her off guard or make her laugh. Her sweetness reminded her of Ann, though Ann had far more wit and intelligence. 

“We didn’t!” she said, her smile growing. Anne loved the way her compliment spread a blush across the girl’s cheeks. “Does it bring out mine, too?”

“Absolutely. I can’t look away,” she replied. “And what a fascinating necklace. Is that—”

“Marigolds,” she answered giddily. “They’re my favorite. I have some in my garden.”

Anne said, “Beautiful. Would you believe that, as a teenager, I spent an entire summer planting flowers around the parks in the city? I would get covered in dirt and sweat through my clothes, but I always went home smelling like roses.”

They shared stories and tips about gardening for what felt like hours before Mariana’s lips nipped the lobe of her ear. Her warm breath tickled, but Anne leaned in to the touch. It was easy to forgive her when she decided to be sweet.

“You look like you’ve gotten some very exciting news,” Anne observed.

“He’s taking the entire family on a cruise this weekend,” she gushed. “Mister Lawton, I mean. But—and I’m sorry, I really did ask if you could come—it _is_ for business, and my parents…” She trailed off, grimacing. 

Anne grit her teeth. The cruise itself she didn’t care about, but it was the flagrant disrespect of their relationship from her parents that infuriated her. If Mariana told them they were engaged, they might finally start to take it seriously. Anne suspected that they were worried she would leave their daughter brokenhearted again, or the other way around, and didn’t want to waste their time. She didn’t want to blame them, but she did. Three years of no drama between them was long enough to prove she’d changed.

“You know, if you told them we were engaged, they—”

“ _Not_ here, Anne,” Mariana said sharply. 

Anne rolled her eyes, but let it go.

“What were you talking about?” Anne asked innocently.

“Nothing,” Mariana said, brushing off her concern. She dabbed her bottom lip with gloss, looking in the little mirror in her hand.

“No, really, what were you—”

“I said nothing, Anne. Business things. Medical things. Things that don’t concern you,” she said, frustrated. Then she softened. “Please, I promise, we didn’t talk about anything exciting. Can we just go home?”

“Sure,” Anne said. 

Anne was torn between forcing Mary to tell her exactly what went on—inevitably starting another fight—or letting it go, hoping for the best, and stewing in her uncertainty. She chose the latter, but it felt like losing.

***

On the way home, Anne broke the silence.

“We should invite Ann over to lunch sometime. I think the two of you would get along well,” Anne said casually.

“Who? Oh, that girl you were flirting with earlier,” Mariana said stiffly.

Anne rolled her eyes. A myriad of things fueled their turbulent relationship, but one of the largest was the ease with which Anne moved from fling to fling between their affairs. Anne cheated once or twice in their youth. She was naturally charming. How can a youngster not be expected to take advantage of that? However, since they rekindled their relationship three years ago, she flirted and teased, but never went farther.

Anne scoffed and said, “I’m finished doing things like that, Mary. She’s kind, but a mousy little thing. I’ve known her since she was a child, and she’s had a hard life. I think she could use some well-established friends.”

Mariana groaned, “You and your million little groups of friends! I don’t know where you get the energy. Will you ever have enough?”

“She could be your friend, too! She’s very sweet and kind. Very agreeable. She won’t challenge your ego at all,” Anne insisted. Mariana rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. “All you have to do is try.”

“Fine,” she said. “Invite her over after the cruise.”

Anne smirked, feeling satisfied. She took the victory with grace. Belcombe family events taxed and drained her like little else did. Mariana could be difficult, but Anne loved her. They would resolve their disagreements eventually.


	3. Buffer Slash Friend

Ann stared at the text with horror etched on her face. Thank god for text. If Elizabeth had called her or told her in person, she didn’t know that she would be able to hide the grim chill settling over her, or keep the internal scream from leaking out in a high-pitched, strangled whine. At that moment, Ann didn’t care how beautiful the sunrise looked from her balcony, or how delicious her tea tasted. She wanted to die.

_ Good morning, Ann!  _ 😊 _ Sorry this is so sudden. No dinner Friday, were going camping instead. Same as usual. Can you come? _

“Everything okay over there?”

Ann squeaked and jumped in her chair, nearly spilling her tea. Anne sat on two balconies across from her with a book resting on her knee. Her eyebrows knit together with concern.

“Yes—sorry. My sister’s just—well, her family, really, are…being frustrating,” she said.

Anne laughed. “Oh, trust me. I know exactly what you mean. I often think my sister was put on this earth with the express purpose of torturing me.”

The idea of another person being able to bother or irritate Anne sounded ridiculous. Her fiancée’s rudeness the other day and Ann’s annoying, stuttering, bumbling self were enough to aggravate almost anyone, but Anne treated them both with such kindness. Her sister was either a monster or a complete absurdity. Ann laughed at the outlandishness of the idea.

“What does she do?”

Anne scoffed, “Ugh, what doesn’t she do? If you ever have the misfortune to meet her, you’ll understand what I mean. Tell me more about this frustration, if you want.”

Ann would tell Anne anything she wanted to hear, but was nervous about boring her with too much information. Once the floodgates of Ann’s life were open, everything came spilling out, and Ann drowned in the drama. She didn’t want her kind neighbor to get caught up in that.

She said, “Oh! Well, I would, but, um—you’re very far away, and it’s—shouting this early in the morning is a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“I absolutely agree. I think I can jump from my balcony over to yours, don’t you? Bit of a nasty fall if I’m wrong though,” Anne said, tapping her chin and looking at the pavement three floors below them.

Ann gaped at her, horrified. She couldn’t tell if Anne was joking or not.

“Please don’t,” Ann begged. “My door’s unlocked.”

“Ugh,” Anne groaned in mock disappointment. “You’re just like Mary—no fun.”

Ann grinned at the joke while Anne made the brisk walk down the hallway and through her door. When it clicked shut, Ann stood up to meet her. It felt strange just letting her come in, like they were already close friends. Maybe they were. She’d never had one before.

“Do you, um, want something? Tea?” Ann offered. Her hands trembled from nerves, so she busied them by playing with the strings of her sweatshirt.

“That sounds wonderful. I can already tell this might be a long conversation,” Anne said warmly.

Ann made her tea only a few minutes before she received the text, so the kettle was still hot. Anne walked the perimeter of her living room while Ann dug for a cup. Ann was just pouring the tea when Anne finished her tour and leaned against the counter beside her.

“Your home looks much more inviting than when I last saw it,” Anne murmured.

She was so close Ann could hardly breathe. Ann was acutely aware of Anne watching her while she poured the hot water into the cup. Her hand shook. The stream of scalding water dribbled over the cup and onto her hand, and she jumped back and yowled from the sting, spilling more water all over the counter.

Anne caught her, one hand lightly placed on her shoulder while the other inspected her throbbing hand. She said, “It looks all right, but we should put ice over it just in case. How does it feel?”

“It’s fine,” Ann said quickly. Then she added, “It hurts.”

“Oh, Ann. This whole thing with your family is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

That was a much more sensible excuse for her clumsiness than a deep, irrevocable, and utterly hopeless crush. Anne’s hand cradling hers sparked a burn in her chest and sucked all the air from her lungs. The universe hyper focused on the length of her fingers and the brush of her fingertip on the back of Ann’s hand, gentle, soft, and somehow deafening, like late-night radio static.

Ann thought,  _ No, my brain just turns to radio static and my arms and legs to jelly whenever you’re around. Why? I’ve had a massive crush on you since I was a kid. It’s fine. Whatever. _

“Yes,” Ann said, breathless. “It’s just made me so stressed.”

“What’s happened?” Anne asked as they returned to her balcony.

Ann sat and pushed her cup safely away from her. Sitting across from Anne while the sun rose was a little surreal. The camping trip with Elizabeth and her family didn’t feel like such a world-ending problem anymore, but Ann knew the peace she felt was temporary, and the panic would return as soon as Anne left.

Ann explained, “Usually I make dinner plans once a month to see my sister. Now it’s going to be closer to once a week, and I love my sister and her children, but her in-laws are so frustrating. And I know we’ve invited my cousin and his wife, and they’re kind, but all of them ask so many awful questions about my life, then make me feel terribly about my answers. I’m always asked when I’m going to marry, if I’ve got a date, and Elizabeth’s awful husband continuously tries to set me up—oh, god, and I bet he’s invited someone this weekend!”

She shuddered just thinking about it. The men he introduced to her were upper class boys who liked the thought of a wife that did little else than stay home and who brought a lot of money to the marriage. The last one talked over her in conversations, the one before touched her knee under the table, and last year one suggested, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted no less than five children.  _ Five _ . And Ann couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought of one.

“I’ll call you, if you want, to give you an excuse to escape. I’ll feign an injury,” Anne suggested. 

“Oh, no, I—I need to—my sister looks forward to seeing me so much. I can’t disappoint her. Her husband is—not very kind,” Ann said. 

Anne took a sip from her cup, thinking. After a minute, she said, “Hmm. Would it help if you didn’t have to go alone?”

Ann blinked. “I—I suppose, but, wouldn’t it be a bit strange to—to bring a friend? Not that you’re strange, I mean, but I feel they might question—”

“I could pretend to be your girlfriend, if you want,” Anne suggested.

Ann nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. The imaginary Anne that held her when she lay awake in bed stewing with anxiety would say this, but not this Anne. Not real Anne. Not engaged-to-Mariana-Belcombe Anne. After a great struggle, she swallowed her drink, then coughed into her elbow while Anne watched with a growing smile.

“What?” Ann finally said, aghast. She was sure she misheard.

“Let me be your fake girlfriend. That way everyone wins. They stop questioning you, you have a buffer slash friend on hand if it’s needed—and I have quite a mouth on me, if you’ll let me use it on them—and I get to escape this cage of a flat for a while,” Anne reasoned.

“You’d really do that for me?”

Anne said, “Sure. I also love camping, so it’s not entirely selfless.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not—it’s not really ‘camping,’ it’s going to another massive house that’s surrounded by more trees and with the intention of sitting outside more often. But other families go camping, so we call it ‘camping,’” Ann explained quickly. Then she added, “We make smores?”

“If there’s a fire, count me in,” Anne said, grinning.

“It’s for a whole weekend, are you…sure?”

“Mary’s out of town for business,” Anne said bitterly. “I’ll be all alone otherwise. And I  _ hate _ being bored. I would love to.”

“Well,” Ann said, biting her lip. “I would be honored to be your girlfriend. Um, fake girlfriend. Obviously.”

They shook hands like it was a business deal. Anne’s firm grip made her stomach flutter and her head light.

“Brilliant plan,” Anne said. “But don’t start writing ‘Mrs. Ann Lister’ on all your notebooks, now. We don’t want them to think we’re moving too quickly.”

Ann blushed. Anne had no idea how quickly she’d want to move if it were real. When Anne left, she wasted no time texting her sister back.

_ Sounds good. I’m bringing someone I can’t wait for you to meet.  _ 😉


	4. Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting is fucked, Im posting this from my phone. I’ll fix it asap!
> 
> Is Ann Walker a mood or what

Ann once again found herself staring at her phone, looking at a text message that short-circuited her brain every time she tried to read it. She had half a mind to toss the thing in the river and be done, and start writing letters to her friends and family instead. As if the weeks or months between sending and receiving them would do anything good for her anxiety at all. Perhaps she would do the simple, natural thing and become a hermit living in the woods, shedding all her worldly possessions to become more—she winced at her own thought process—worldly.   
  
If that was the last philosophical thought Ann ever had, that would be okay. Maybe even for the best. She’d leave those to Anne, who filled every moment with her radiant excitement for life, the planet Earth, and everything in it. Anne.

Thinking of her jolted Ann back to the situation at hand. Ann stared at the text, her heartbeat racing again.

**Anne** : Mary’s away tonight. I’ll be unimaginably bored. Do you like pizza? We can talk strategy for this weekend over pizza, if you want.

Ann couldn’t imagine someone as exciting and intelligent as Anne being bored. Yet the other option was just as impossible—Anne, enjoying the presence of someone as dull and lifeless as Ann? To the point of seeking it out? Ann blinked, squinting at the screen as if it might reveal Anne’s true intentions. 

With great difficulty, Ann silenced the nonsensical war in her brain. She replied with what her heart wanted to say, finally pressing send after almost ten minutes of contemplating her answer.

**Ann** : Sure. What time?  
 **Anne** : What time do you eat dinner?

The reply came almost immediately. Ann flushed, despite the innocence of the question. If Anne didn’t already think of her as a child, she would now—any schedule for her life went out the window years ago. Sometimes she ate dinner at nine, sometimes ten, sometimes at two in the morning. Sometimes she just forgot altogether. Bite marks in a block of cheese in her refrigerator was evidence enough of her lazy midnight snacking.

Not like Anne. She and Mariana probably cooked at the same time every night. Leafy vegetables, seared tuna, grilled salmon, and whatever else healthy people ate. Quinoa? Ann’s heart raced as she started to really think about it. Had she really eaten pizza every night this week? Was that grounds enough to backtrack on Anne, not because she didn’t want to come over, but because she truly had had pizza every night that week already and didn’t know how to suggest something else without revealing that information? But if she had it every night, what was the point of putting her foot down this time? This was probably a treat for Anne, instead of the norm. Ann didn’t want to ruin that. She could be selfless for Anne, and eat pizza for the seventh day in a row.

Sixth, really, since she was pretty sure last night was the night she sat on her kitchen floor nibbling on a block of cheese like a mouse. 

**Ann** : Whenever you want!  
 **Anne** : How does six sound?

Ann almost replied, _Like lunch._ Maybe that would offend Anne. Instead, she answered how the kind of girl that eats dinner at a normal-person time might answer. She got into character, sitting on her couch, crossing her legs, and pretending her sweats and stained t-shirt were a flowing, flowery summer dress. Someone worthy of dating Anne, even just for pretend. Ann hit send, oozing false confidence.

**Ann** : Great!  
 **Anne** : Wonderful. See you in a few hours.

A few hours was too much time and too little all at once. It wasn’t a date, obviously—it _wasn’t_ —yet Ann knew it would take her an hour to do her hair, another to do her makeup, and then twenty minutes to scrub it off after deciding she didn’t like it, and another hour to decide what to wear. She felt stupid and silly that her entire day oriented around a single event, but the knowledge that she and Anne would be alone in only a few short hours made her head spin.

***

Ann stared at herself in the mirror with a desperate yet futile desire to feel satisfied. Her cheeks, eyes, and nose were an angry red from scrubbing off her makeup and reapplying, until she decided mascara was enough and moved on. The mustard yellow summer dress hung off her shoulders and flared a bit at the hips.  
  
It would be cute on anyone else, Ann thought grimly. It would have to be good enough. Somehow, she ran out of time.

At 5:59, Ann stood outside Anne’s door with her hand frozen in midair. Was it polite to knock? Since they were texting now, was it more appropriate to text her that she had arrived? Should she just let herself in? That was probably the worst option. But Anne let herself in at Ann’s invitation just the other day, and this was nearly the same situation—

She was saved when Anne opened the door, smiling brightly.  
  
“I, um, was just about to knock,” Ann explained.

Her breath caught as soon as she looked at Anne. Anne leaned against the doorframe in a crisp white button up, the sleeves rolled above her elbows. The fabric tugged slightly at her biceps, and the open collar revealed a sheen of sweat over her chest. 

Ann thought, _How am I going to get through this when I’m already fucking dead?_

“I was just about to come get you. I worried you’d forgotten about me,” Anne teased warmly.

“Oh, Anne, I would never,” Ann said before she realized Anne was joking, then blushed.

“That dress is beautiful,” Anne said, inviting her in. 

Her hand hovered over Ann’s waist. Ann ached for her to touch her. She imagined her body pressed flush against Anne’s, Anne’s hands on either side of her waist, holding her close, savoring the gentle curve there. I love your dress, whispered into her ear with a hot, frustrated breath, her hands moving down—

“If we want to pass this off, you can’t be so tense around me, you know,” Anne said.

Ann started, realizing she’d gone still against the kitchen counter while her fantasy took hold. Anne was across from her holding a glass of wine, not behind her whispering in her ear. 

Anne is engaged, she reminded herself sternly. And you need to get over this.  
No better way to do so than trial by fire. Hopefully. Ann swallowed, praying she was right.

“I, um, I don’t know, I’m just—” Ann sighed in frustration, then decided to be honest. At least partially. “I’m worried that once you get to know me, you’ll discover what a child I am, and then get sick of me.”

“Ann, look at me. I won’t get sick of you. I find you curious, lovely, and—most importantly—relaxing to be around,” Anne said. 

She rested her hand on Ann’s arm. Gooseflesh prickled from the touch. Ann flushed. For reasons even she couldn’t comprehend, she felt compelled to prove to Anne why she shouldn’t be here, and shied away.

Laughing at herself while she spoke, Ann said, “No, you don’t understand. I’m a mess. I’ve had pizza...every night this week. Every night I’ve remembered to eat, anyway. I—I don’t know. Thinking I could be friends with someone like you, maybe it was a mistake. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what a waste of my time is, hmm?” Anne said.

She stood so close. Anne’s breath brushed her cheek. She lifted Ann’s chin with a finger, and Ann felt her entire body rise. Ann longed to feel the stiff, crisp collar of Anne’s shirt pressed against her cheek. The fierce way Anne stared at her, as though with only a glare she could undo a life of self-loathing, softened her. 

Ann realized she wanted one thing in the world: she wanted to please Anne Lister however she could. If not romantically, or sexually, in the way she ached, it would be in something else. Dreams would be enough. If she had to bear this burden silently for the rest of her life, it would be worth it if her presence made Anne’s life better.

“You’re right,” Ann finally said. “It’s just how I feel. Sometimes those thoughts are hard to stop.”

Anne smiled gently with the corner of her mouth. She poured them each a drink, then said, “Well, Miss Walker, let’s begin. I think we should start with the basics. What do you do for a living?”

Ann swallowed her small sip of wine too fast and coughed. Following Anne’s direction, she tucked away her eternal embarrassment and presented her situation as professionally as she could. Not that her best was passable as “professional.”  
  
“Er—well. I’d like to say I paint for a living. I’ve done—I’ve done a couple murals, I’ve done a few galleries, so I’m not entirely a fraud, but it isn’t exactly a consistent income for me right now—” 

Ann paused, blushing, daring to peek at Anne’s face, expecting to see a brow raised in judgement or a frown of disappointment. Anne smiled when she looked. Her warm brown eyes egged her on. 

In a breath, Ann finished, “Basically the insurance from my parents’ accident made me filthy rich, by most people’s standards. You?”

“I own this rental property and half a dozen others,” Anne answered simply. With no commentary, she continued,

“Favorite color?”

The difference in seriousness of the questions shouldn’t have been jarring, but it was. Ann almost laughed at the turn.   
  
“Pink,” Ann answered, finally smiling.  
  
“There it is. You smile beautifully, you know. I feel lucky that you’ve let me see it,” Anne said casually. “What kind of pink?”

Ann said, “Soft, baby pink. You?”  
  
“Blue. Like the color of your eyes,” Anne murmured, smirking.  
  
Ann nearly choked on her own spit.  
  
“That’s not true!” she accused.   
  
Anne shrugged. She said, “Mmm, it is. Worded a bit dramatically, maybe. But it’s good practice for this weekend, isn’t it?”  
  
Their questions increased steadily in seriousness, and then began to feel more like a conversation. It helped that Ann’s head buzzed after a single glass of wine.

She couldn’t stop smiling, and Anne didn’t either. They inches closer together until they sat next to each other on the couch, knees touching. Anne poured another glass. Ann didn’t realize how drunk she was until Anne’s finger traced her kneecap absently, and Ann felt a pressure in her abdomen that meant she was either very turned on or she needed to go to the bathroom immediately.  
  
Either way, she ignored it. She didn’t want it to stop.  
  
“Do you like this?” Anne asked gently.  
  
Ann didn’t know whether she meant the touch or the evening.   
  
“What do you mean?”

“In a relationship, do you like to be touched? Casually, I mean. I want to be believable. When you’re with significant others around your family, what are you like? Touchy? A bit of a prude?” Anne jabbed playfully. Her words slurred just enough for Ann to notice.

Ann never brought any significant others to meet her family. That was most of her problem—they believed she lived a double life and hid it from them, when really she had no life at all. Her relationships were short and meaningless. She found it difficult to explain that to her family, who all married and settled young. They thought there was something wrong with her. Maybe there was.

“I don’t know. I’ve never brought anyone home. But I…do like that. It’s calming,” Ann explained quickly. 

Anne leaned in closer. Her nose brushed stray threads of Ann’s hair. Ann sat frozen in the couch. She didn’t even breathe. Her brain whirred with a thousand fantasies, wondering which might come true, then spun into a panic, wondering what kind of consequence would come from such a transgression.

Anne’s finger tucked the threads behind her ear. Warmth flourished from her chest, touching her throat, cheeks, and ears with a cherry-red blush.

“Have you ever kissed anyone? A woman, specifically,” Anne asked.

Ann had. But she wanted desperately to say no, in case Anne thought it prudent to practice, and for a moment fantasized about the soft touch of her lips on her mouth, the tickle of her eyelashes on her cheek, and the brush of her strong fingers on her throat. But she couldn’t lie to Anne.

“I have,” she said. 

Those two words felt like the greatest sacrifice Ann would ever make in the name of ethics and morality. She immediately regretted them.

Anne said, “That’s good. Then you won’t be shocked if it happens when the moment is appropriate. We’ll make boundaries, obviously. If that’s too much for you, all you have to do is say so—" she sliced her hand through the air with slightly more vigor than was needed “—and it’ll stop.”

Ann stared at her lips, wet and reddened from the wine. With the flavor of the drink still on her tongue, it was easy to imagine how Anne tasted. Sweet. A little floral. Cold, at the first touch, but as their lips brushed and teeth scraped, her breath would warm Anne’s mouth, lick away the remnants of wine, and soon it would just be the taste of Anne. She had no idea what that might be like.

Anne cleared her throat.

“Oh! Um, no, if it isn’t too much for you, it isn’t too much for me,” Ann squeaked.

“Excellent. I—”

The door, blocked from Ann’s view, opened and slammed shut. 

“That’ll be my fiancée,” Anne said, winking. “I’ll pour her a drink and introduce you.”

Ann stood with her. The alcohol took her off balance, and she caught herself on the arm of the couch.  


“No, no, I don’t want to ruin your evening. I, um, I have to go, anyway,” Ann said quickly. “I still have to—have to pack.”

  
Which was true. It was also true that Ann desperately had to relieve the pressure building between her legs and control her hammering heart. She needed a glass of water. Two glasses of water. Three glasses, and the filthiest thing she could find to think about that wasn’t Anne Lister


	5. “I Love You”s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding gaslighting/toxic relationship tags because writing this chapter was slightly more triggering for me than I expected! 😅 Those content warnings only apply to Anne/Mariana interactions, so if you’d rather be safe than sorry, I’m not upset if u skip over them!

Mariana watched Ann leave with a raised eyebrow. Ann started at their closeness, flashed her a tight-lipped smile, and edged out of their flat.  
  
“Good bye, strange little neighbor girl,” Mariana muttered bitterly after the door slammed shut behind her. “She’s a bit rude.”  
  
“She’s just trying to bond with you,” Anne explained with a laugh.  
  
Mariana rolled her eyes. She removed her earrings while she rushed to the bathroom at the end of the hall, calling, “I’m choosing to ignore that. Did you have fun? How many glasses have you had?”  
  
Anne was too drunk to discuss the rest of her day, but she could talk about Ann forever. Conversation was too easy with her, she wondered what the catch would be. Everything Anne said impressed her. But not in the normal, awed way where girls just let her talk; Ann dug deeper, asked her questions about how she felt, would she do it again? what was it really like?  
  
“I don’t know, three?” Anne stood again, wobbled over the floor like it was a rocking ship, then caught herself on the wall. “Five? We had a good time. Once you get her talking, she doesn’t stop. She’s so sweet and kind, Mary. All it would take is one conversation to charm you.”  
  
“Careful you don’t fall in love with her,” Mariana teased, though it had a small dose of venom.  
  
Anne laughed. She leaned on the doorframe behind her, catching Mariana’s eye in the mirror. Mary rolled her eyes before taking out her contact lenses.

Anne sighed against the frame, thinking of shy little nervous Ann Walker, and the way she blushed at everything Anne said. It was difficult not to let it inflate her ego.  
  
“Please, Mary. I could only ever love you. She sees me as a more—I don’t know—matronly figure. You should have seen how nervous she was to come over. I think she thinks we’re old,” Anne added in a whisper, then laughed again. “I can already tell this weekend is going to be a thrill.”  
  
Mariana said, “Oh? And what’re you doing this weekend?”  
  
Had Anne forgotten to tell her? Anne could have sworn they talked about it, but that wasn’t a fight she wanted to have right now. Not in her state. Not with the little time they had to spend together.   
  
Anne replied, “I’m going camping with Ann and her family. That’s why she was over just now, she was filling me in on their machinations. I figured it would get me out of this lonely flat. I’ll miss you too much if I don’t busy myself.”  
  
“That’s weird,” Mariana said flatly.  
  
Mariana’s tone was difficult to decode. Anne couldn’t decide if she was mad about her spending more time with Ann—whom she argued firmly over and over is not a threat—or if Mariana was about to pester her for being clingy again. She hoped for the latter. She could pass it off as a joke.  
  
“That I’ll miss you?” Anne guessed.  
  
Annoyed, Mariana explained, “That you’re going camping with her family. Haven’t you just met?”  
  
“Oh, I was neighbors with her and her parents for years when she was a kid. They passed years ago and—well, she has fond memories of me, and the rest of her family are irritable. I thought I might put on my charm and they’d see she has a happy, fulfilling life, and leave her alone,” Anne said. “And you know how I love to burn things over a campfire.”  
  
“I can see why she left early,” Mariana muttered to herself. “You’re a bit annoying when you’re drunk. It’s been awhile since you’ve been like this.”  
  
Anne stepped behind her, careful not to stumble. She held her fiancée’s waist with two hands, pressing her close and using her as an anchor all at once. Anne relaxed into her swirling floral musk, allowing a sea of pleasurable memories to swallow her, and sighed, wetting the back of her neck with her warm breath.  
  
“The best part of being ‘like this’…is that you can take advantage,” Anne murmured into her hair.  
  
Anne expected Mariana to slough off her stress, anger, and miseries of the day and sink into her. She expected that the hardships she endured throughout the day might be rewarded at the end by the one person she chose to love her, begged to comfort her, and needed to remind her of all the good in the world. A kiss, a tumble, even a cuddle would do, but Mary shrugged her off like she was a touchy man at the pub.  
  
“No, Anne. Not tonight,” she snapped. “I’m tired.”  
  
“Just a kiss?” she pleaded.  
  
If Mariana kissed her, she knew everything would be alright. It was a rough night. A rough week. One kiss, and she would be satisfied, knowing the universe would right itself soon. One kiss would remind her Mary loved her, and that was in itself a gift.  
  
“Fine,” she said, and pecked her on the lips.  
  
Anne held her there. Mary resisted at first, but gave in, and the hard press of her mouth against Anne’s slackened. She let Anne kiss her, soft, slow, savoring.   
  
“I love you,” Anne whispered.  
  
If Mary said it back, everything was okay. There was nothing to worry about. She could convince herself the loneliness welling in her gut was only her imagination.   
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
And that was all the proof Anne needed.

***

The first thing Ann did when she stepped into her flat was take off her clothes and jump into the coldest shower she could bear. She stood under the freezing droplets for ten minutes, trying to rid herself of the filthy things she wanted Anne to do to her. Ann wanted more than a kiss, she wanted more than sex, she wanted everything. She stupidly, dangerously, hopelessly wanted everything. The frustration tangled itself in her heart, sunk to her gut, and sat, a boiling pressure between her legs, like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

The shower didn’t work. Ann stormed out, half-dried herself with a towel, and jumped in her bed, soaking wet in more ways than one. She jammed her hand between her legs, so inexplicably angry and frustrated she realized she was crying.   
  
Rubbing her clit with increasing vigor provided some relief, but not enough. She hit a plateau where her body hung in a balance of relief and ever-building pressure. Regardless of the rhythm or pace she set the relief wouldn’t flourish into waves of pleasure, instead dipping down into pain as she worked her clit over and over and over to no avail.

Ann stopped, breathing hard. She closed her eyes, and she was on Anne’s couch again. Anne was so close she could smell her, could imagine her kisses, could feel her puffs of warm, gentle breath when she laughed. Instead of staying still this time, Ann tilted her head and caught Anne’s lips in a gentle, chaste kiss. 

Mariana wouldn’t come home. In this new reality, she was gone—she left Anne, maybe. And that’s why Ann was there, consoling her. Anne loved Mariana, it felt strange to ignore that bit of her, even in a fantasy. Anne loved her, but she was gone, and it was Ann’s turn to comfort her, to love her, to do everything a soulmate might do. 

“I love you, Anne,” she whimpered. 

The heat of her own breath warmed and moistened the pillow. It was as good as Anne’s own hot, wet breath when she whispered back, _I love you, too, Ann_.

Her fingers became Anne’s. They brushed the insides of her thigh, teased the soaking wet dip of her entrance, gathering arousal, and touched her, languid, gentle, aware of her fluttering heart and heaving breaths. The cold air hitting her exposed skin was Anne stepping back to admire her. The blanket was her skirt lifted up, revealing everything for Anne to see.

Ann hated how she looked, but in Anne’s eyes, she could be beautiful. The chubbiness in her thighs could be a soft spot for Anne to bite and then kiss, her tumbling, frizzy curls something for Ann to grasp and comb while they moved together. Her breasts, far too small on a normal day, fit perfectly in Anne’s palm. Under Anne’s touch, the things she hated became loveable, because Anne loved them.

Thinking of Anne removed the frustrated block in her body and filled her with a relaxed peace. Everything filthy she wanted Anne to do passed through her brain while she touched herself, her hand slipping over her own sticky arousal. She was Anne, so she loved it. She was Anne, begging to be inside her, but making her come before it could happen. 

Ann lay motionless on the uncomfortably wet bed, breathing hard. Her body held the tension with an iron grip for so long, it left her too weak to move upon release. If the flat was on fire, and she had to stand, she couldn’t. Trapped between her legs, her hand began to prickle from the awkward angle. She didn’t care.

Seconds after she shut her eyes, Ann fell asleep.


	6. Everything Is Okay, It's Just a Thing

“You really don’t care?” Anne pressed. “Tell me if you do. If you do, it’s all off. We’ll work something out.”

“I really don’t. It’s fake. There’s obviously nothing going on, because it’s, well—look at her,” Mariana said with a haughty laugh. “She’s not exactly your type.”

“Funny, you used to say my type was ‘breathing,’” Anne teased.

It was a late morning. Mariana rushed to finish her make-up in the car, and they waited for Ann to finish bringing her things. The girl looked like she was moving in to her sister’s. Where Anne fit all of her things in a small gym bag—Ann assured her the family had all the camping gear they might need—Ann had to run back up to her flat to get her second round of bags.

Anne didn’t know why she waited until the morning of to tell her. It felt less like a secret to hide and more like a prank she forgot she needed permission for. Instead of feeling relieved Mary didn’t care, a seed of doubt wormed itself deep in her gut. If Mary were in her place, Anne would put her foot down. Why didn’t she care?

“Why don’t you care?” she blurted.

Mariana rolled her eyes. She said, “I just told you, didn’t I? And don’t say it like that, Anne. You’re always complaining that I don’t trust you, that it’s different now we’re engaged—well, this is me, trusting you. Can you take the olive branch, please?”

She was right, of course. Anne flushed. Anne typically thought of herself as a calm, rational, logical person. She distilled meaning from evidence, and always tried to keep a foot in neutrality. But when it came to Mariana, all of that flew out of the window, and she became impassioned and emotional until it was impossible to tell up from down. All of the sudden, Anne found malice where it didn’t exist, and intention where there was none. Mary didn’t care because she trusted Anne— _loved_ Anne, not because their relationship suddenly didn’t mean anything. 

“She needs you to open the trunk, Anne,” Mariana said without looking up from her mirror.

Anne started, then noticed Ann waving shyly in the rearview mirror, a backpack over her shoulder and a bag tucked under her arm. Between her bashful smile, her light pink cardigan, and the small hop she made to close the trunk, Anne couldn’t resist smiling. Ann finally jumped in the backseat and sighed.

“You should’ve told me you packed so much, and I’d have rented a moving truck,” Anne teased gently.

Ann’s cheeks tinged pink.

“I was a mess until late last night, trying to predict what I’ll want to wear. Sometimes it gets so cold, sometimes it’s blistering hot—and then the shoes! Ugh, I have an entire bag of those,” Ann groaned, covering her face in her hands. “So I just bring it all. If I didn’t, I’d still be in my closet trying to decide.”

Ann was such a sweet thing. Her hands sat folded in her lap and her shoulders hunched forward, making her look smaller than she was. Anne wished she could smooth away the shame she seemed to feel about everything. Whoever instilled this in her did a great disservice. Though Anne was just beginning to get to know her, she wished she could show Ann how she looked through her eyes—the skill in her paintings, her kindness, and the dose of originality she brought to everything she did.

That would be her secret goal for the weekend.

“No matter what you choose to wear, you’ll look ethereal next to me,” Anne assured her. “I’ve packed a change of clothes, a flannel, and a jacket. We’ll be smelling the first campfire of the weekend all weekend.”

Ann giggled. “Remember how I said it’s not ‘real’ camping? There’s a washer you can use if you want. And we’ve got a full kitchen, too. And real beds. Cath will want to sleep in a tent though, and she’ll beg us until we give in,” she said bitterly.

“I don’t envy you,” Mariana muttered.

“Your friend won’t have to beg me,” Anne informed Ann, ignoring Mary. “I’ll give in right away.”

Anne tried to start conversations between the three of them on the way to the Belcombe home. Mary was caught up in getting ready and only replied with one or two word answers, and Ann was shy around her fiancée, her earnest replies turning to meek explanations and then fading off altogether. Soon they sat in silence, with the radio playing lightly through the speakers.

Outside the Belcombe home, Mariana slipped off her ring. Anne stashed it in her pocket. She knew it was going to happen and flushed anyway. She hoped Ann missed the exchange, but when she glanced back, Ann stared at her with a wrinkle between her eyebrows. Anne flashed her a smile.

She hoped it said, _everything is okay. It’s just a thing_.

“Good bye, Anne. Pick me up Monday afternoon?” Mariana reminded her like she already forgot.

“Of course,” Anne said. “Love you.”

Anne leaned over the center console, reminding Mary to lean back in for a goodbye kiss. She did, and the brush of her lips on Anne’s cheek was the sweetest thing in the world.

***

Anne was too good for her fiancée, and that was plain enough for anyone to see. Mariana clearly liked attention, Anne showered her in it, and then begged for half—no, a quarter, an eighth, a crumb—of the same. Ann couldn’t place why they were engaged. Maybe it was different when they were alone. Maybe she always saw them at a bad time. 

After Mariana left, Ann climbed into the passenger seat. Anne turned up the radio, leaving Ann to ponder her thoughts for awhile longer. She wondered how Anne and Mariana met, and if that played apart in them staying together. It wasn’t any of her business, of course, but if they were going to play a convincing couple, it couldn’t hurt to go off of a real-life example.

 _Fuck. Shit_ , she thought. Their backstory. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Panic struck her like a bolt of lightning in her chest.

“Anne,” Ann started, and then stopped. The rest of it caught in her throat, wanting to burst out all at once.

“Present,” Anne teased after a pause. A laugh played on the tip of her tongue.

“We haven’t, um—last night, we were supposed to—I mean, we did, but we didn’t finish,” she said, then took a deep breath. “We talked about each other, but not, um, ‘us.’ Like, our relationship.”

Anne tapped her chin and nodded. She said, “Okay. Yes. You’re right. When did we start dating? A month ago? Two months?”

Anne’s levity felt strange when the urgency of everything sent blood surging in thick waves through her body. Ann relaxed herself, taking deep, measured breaths as covertly as she could. She let it play out in her head like a story. Believable didn’t have to be complicated. It could be simple.

“Um, let’s say a month ago. When I signed my lease, and saw you in the hallway,” Ann said.

She blushed, thinking of Anne the first day they met. Sweaty, nearly naked, and so charming Ann would have done anything at her command. Falling in love by passing her in a hallway was believable—Ann had no shame in that regard, and her family knew as much.

Anne nodded in agreement. She said, “Who asked who? Were you the brave one, or was I?”

A single laugh left Ann’s lips. “Oh, you for sure. I’m a coward.”

“I don’t know, you’ve got quite a backbone when you put your mind to something. I’ve seen the way you talk to paintings when they won’t sit on the wall correctly,” Anne said, smiling warmly.

With anyone else, Ann might have buried her face in her hands and groaned. But the affection in Anne’s voice when she said it brought a blush to Ann’s cheeks and a giggle to her lips. No one ever told her she had a backbone before. She rolled her eyes, but supposed it could be true. 

Moving on, Ann asked cautiously, “Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Anne said, “Yes, but only for the first time last week. So it still has that glitter of newness, and that’s why we blush like schoolgirls whenever we say it.”

Anne said that like she knew Ann would blush every time. And she would. Every time. Even thinking about Anne saying it to her now made her stomach swirl with butterflies.

“We move fast,” Ann observed.

Anne nodded. “We do. We’re very impassioned.”

“That tracks with me,” Ann laughed. “I’ve said ‘I love you’ on a second date before. It just came out. It was mortifying. And didn’t work out, obviously.”

Even as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Ann realized how childish they sounded. Loving someone so soon was naïve. Yet Ann fell in deep, over and over, and even now loved Anne when it could never be returned the same way. She turned to face the window, unable to look at Anne.

“Me too,” Anne said gently. “I said it to Mary, oh, right away I think. Right after, when you’re not supposed to.”

Ann smiled to herself. A younger, playful, carefree Anne took hold of her imagination. Someone who said “I love you” right away. Someone utterly unafraid and brimming with confidence, who didn’t squeak with fright at the admission, but who owned it like a declaration. Ann was in love with this vision of Anne. The grinning woman across from her was so close.

This game was a cruel blend of fun and bittersweet.

“I think you’ve pegged us incorrectly,” Ann ventured.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Three weeks is far too long. I don’t have ironclad willpower when it comes to stuff like that, do you?” When Anne shook her head, Ann continued, “Exactly. We were goners on the very first date.”

“It came out when you guessed my coffee order correctly,” Anne postulated. “We were standing in line, I told you to order for me, and you said, ‘I bet you like—‘”

“Plain black coffee,” Ann finished.

Ann didn’t realize what she said at first. Anne was silent for a few moments before Ann turned to see what was wrong. Anne stared at her with a wrinkled eyebrow and a slightly open mouth, as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or not. 

Ann couldn’t help but laugh.

“I mean, that’s why it’s funny, right?” Ann said quickly. “That’s probably the most common coffee order ever, and you’re you, you know, wearing—” Ann gestured at her all-black attire “—black. It’s a bit thematic. It’s not like I guessed an ultra-specific coffee order for you.”

“Guess one,” Anne dared, deadpan.

There was a coffee shop down the street from their flat. Ann hadn’t been to it in years, but it would have made a fine enough first date. Standing in line, holding Anne’s arm tightly, her expression alight from a conversation Ann half paid attention to. Anne, ever-challenging her mind, daring her to guess.

“The driest cappuccino known to man. Only foam,” Ann answered.

Anne slowed to a stop on the side of the road. She turned to face Ann with a grave expression.

“Ann Walker, I love you,” she said seriously. 

Ann cackled even as her heart melted. She almost took Anne’s face in her hands and kissed her. She would have, if it were real. Instead, she sunk in her car seat, shaking with laughter. 

“That _isn’t_ your order,” Ann accused. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, frighteningly enough. Maybe we’ve been thinking about this too simply,” Anne said, feigning distress. “Ann, are we—already engaged?”

“When did you ask me?”

“Immediately after I said ‘I love you,’” Anne said. “In the same breath, I said, ‘I love you, will you marry me?’”

“And then I said yes, and we sat down to continue our first date? Just checking,” Ann said.

“No, you’re right, that’s a bit much,” Anne said. “Unless…?”

Ann smacked her arm. “No unless! You wouldn’t do that! And I wouldn’t.”

Ann absolutely would, if the woman in question was Anne.

“Oh, I don’t know. For the right girl…I might,” Anne hummed.

Chuckling, Anne brought the car into gear and continued down the road. When their laughter settled, they worked out the rest of their story, poking fun at each idea until it morphed into another. Ann somehow came into custody of a pair of twins they would fight to keep secret from her family, and Anne became a Russian agent with a good accent, until they ultimately decided their new identities would make the weekend much harder. They returned to simpler roots: Anne and Ann were themselves, and they loved each other. 

Although, Ann wondered if their alternate identities weren’t simpler than the truth. Ann loved Anne, even though she was engaged to someone else, and desperately wanted to steal her heart. It was unethical. It was terrible, and painful, and she still let herself dream about it. 

Ann slipped into a mindset of simply enjoying Anne’s presence. Her laugh, the wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled, and the animated way she spoke were reasons within themselves to wake up in the morning. She was content until Anne offered her free hand and said, “Hold my hand. Show me what’s comfortable.”

At her command, Ann threaded their fingers together. She didn’t realize how large Anne’s hands were until they held her own, and that now-familiar ache dropped from her heart to between her thighs. They adjusted so Anne’s thumb was on top. Her fingertips brushed Ann’s knuckles, gentle ministrations that Anne likely didn’t realize she was doing, but that set Ann’s heart racing. Ann looked out the window so Anne couldn’t see the blush flourishing across her cheeks.

They held hands for twenty minutes. At two minutes, Ann wondered if she should say something. At ten, she considered letting go, and then Anne spoke, continuing their conversation before. At fifteen, she realized Anne squeezed harder when she got excited, and Ann decided that, regardless of how inappropriate it might be, she’d continue to selfishly hold on. Anne was soft, gentle, and warm. Blood pounded in her ears, yet she never felt so calm.

At twenty minutes, Anne nearly missed the turn onto the dirt road leading to her parent’s old house. She needed both hands to make the sharp turn safely. After the turn, her hands stayed firmly on both sides of the wheel, and Ann noticed a blush creeping up her throat. 


	7. Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kindness and enthusiasm for this story! I'm having a blast writing it, and I'm glad you're having just as much fun reading. My warning to you: the tension in the next few chapters is about to heighten dramatically. Plan accordingly.

The long and winding dirt road led to Ann’s parent’s house. It was officially half hers, but the idea of living in the former home and disturbing the relics there terrified her, like losing her parents all over. Visiting every now and again in the summers was different—each room, though touched by life, still belonged to them. Despite the home being an intimate thing, she was excited to share it with Anne.

They were the last to arrive, if the number of cars in the driveway was anything to go by. Ann grimaced when she saw that Elizabeth had invited the entire family—her husband’s mother, their aunt Ann, her cousins Catherine, William, and his wife Eliza, and her childhood friend Harriet. Ann almost took the steering wheel from Anne and said, “let’s just go home” until Anne turned to her, grinning.

“That’s a full house. It’s you and me versus the world, isn’t it?” Anne said brightly.

“Feels like that,” Ann said, dread taking over. She sank in her chair.

Anne whispered, “I like our odds.”

Affection for Anne washed over her anew. Her imagination couldn’t have conjured a kinder, braver, or more thoughtful friend. Beyond her futile yearning for Anne’s heart, Anne was simply a kind human being. More than anyone else before, Anne was on her side. 

Ann took Anne’s hand. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, or the bold act of a girl with an unbearable crush. She needed Anne to understand. Their fingers threaded together. Tracing Anne’s palm with the fingertip of her free hand while she figured out what to say already felt natural.

After a deep breath, Ann said, “Thank you for coming with me, Anne.”

Anne shook her head. She said, “No need. Spending time with you is a blast already.”

Ann laughed. They shared a smile.

“We can stay in here as long as you want,” Anne assured her. She peered out of the window toward the house. “But you should know we’re about to have company.”

Ann followed where she was looking. Eliza peered through the curtains on the first floor, then dashed to the door. Cath and Harriet followed excitedly behind her, no doubt eager to see the mystery person in the driver’s seat. The situation was becoming too real too quickly. Ann sank even further in her seat.

“Oh, god. Don’t roll down the windows,” she groaned.

Grinning, Anne said, “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve just decided they’re broken.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Ann said.

Anne squeezed her hand. “You do.”

Ann readied herself with a series of deep breaths. After a minute, she sat upright, turned to Anne, and said, “Have we got everything? Our story, um, our…dynamic? My brain is spinning, trying to remember things I think I’ve forgotten.”

“Whatever comes up, I’m sure we’ll push through,” Anne assured her. Then she frowned. “Ann, it’s important to me that if you’re uncomfortable with something, you’ll tell me. Tell me if we’re alone. Tell me if we’re with your family by saying, I don’t know, ‘I have to go to the bathroom.’ I’ll get the message. Or text me. Okay?”

Ann couldn’t imagine being uncomfortable with anything Anne wanted to do. Anne was the one in a relationship, not the other way around. However, the gesture was important. A small smile played on her lips.

“Yes, okay,” Ann agreed. “You, too.”

Ann’s eyes flicked to the front door, where nearly everyone stood waiting. She massaged the bridge of her nose, prodding away the headache forming between her eyes. Concerned, Anne glanced back, then chuckled gently at the scene. She waved, somehow perfectly calm under the pressure of their presence. Cath waved back. Harriet whispered in her ear.

Anne said, “Of course. I should warn you—I’m a bit of a social butterfly.”

Anne was a thousand things. Dashing, handsome, brave, and kind were the first few that came to mind, and the masculine air she brought to everything she did took Ann off her feet. She was utterly helpless to it. “Butterfly” was such a delicate, feminine concept, it felt wrong to apply it to her, yet Anne evoked it with such seriousness. Ann couldn’t stop the laugh the burst from her lips. 

“Sorry, it’s not funny. Well, the imagery is, because you’re just so! Unlike a butterfly. But you being—that, I already knew. Because you talked to me that first day. And you just pull conversation from the air like it’s nothing,” she explained hurriedly, one-hundred percent aware that every word dug her deeper into a hole.

Anne grinned, biting back laughter. “That’s the last time you’ll hear me describe myself as a butterfly. I’m truly warning you. I get distracted talking to everyone, but the reason I’m here is you. If you’re feeling lonely or ignored, this is your permission to walk right up to me and smack me. Or kiss me. Both will have the same effect.”

“I’m  _ not _ going to smack you,” Ann assured her, horrified.

“That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said,” Anne said, feigning disappointment. “I suppose I’ll have to get myself excited for the latter.”

Ann opened her mouth to tease her, but froze when a man Ann didn’t recognize joined the crowd outside. Where Cath’s and Harriet’s faces were alight with excitement, his eyebrows knit together with concern while he and William chatted off to the side. Ann could guess who he was. She dreaded the earful she was going to get from George from bringing Anne to the event. 

Anne noticed him, too. She said, “That young man was not in the preview you gave me of who might be here.”

Ann buried her face in her hands. “Oh, this just gets worse. Elizabeth must not have told anyone. Her husband likes to set me up with his friends. They know I’m a lesbian, Anne, and this  _ still happens _ .”

Anne raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to have to nip that in the bud, aren’t we? I have a proposal for you,” she said, winking.

Ann couldn’t help but smile.

“Anne, we talked about this,” Ann teased.

“A different kind of proposal. When we get out of the car, you’re going to come round to the trunk and kiss me. However you want. Quick, soft, or wildly passionate. Whatever you think will do the trick, I mean.”

For a moment, Ann considered suggesting that Anne strip her naked and take her against the car. It would be a joke about the daftness of her family, but as the thought formed in her mind, a blush spread across her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure her lips could verbalize a thought that vulgar. Yet Anne’s hand, so real in hers, warm, large, firm, touching every inch of her body was a thought she struggled to relinquish in the name of friendship and ethics. 

“Yeah,” Ann said. Her mouth was dry.

It would be so easy to guide Anne’s hand to the inside of her thigh. The promise of the pressure of Anne’s fingertip over her jeans for just a moment was enough to turn her brain to empty air. Her heartbeat reverberated through her body at the thought of Anne turning to her, confused, then surrendering to the primal need in Ann’s expression. Ann squirmed in her seat, aware of her soaked underwear uncomfortably clinging to her. It was too much. She needed to move, she needed the opportunity to be gone, to think clearly again. Summoning willpower reserved for interacting with George and his mother, Ann let go of her hand. 

In the most casual voice her lust-addled mind could muster, Ann said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Anne said enthusiastically.

Before Anne opened the trunk, Ann met her, blushing. In lieu of asking permission for the kiss they both knew was coming, she rested her hand on the plane of Anne’s cheek. She was impossibly soft, and just a little warm from the sun. Anne leaned into her touch. She rested her other hand on Anne’s chest, nearly groaned at the gentle curve of her collarbone under her fingertips, and stood on her toes. As soon as she did, Anne wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged them tightly together. Anne’s breath brushed her lips, and all of Ann’s resolve slipped away.

Ann kissed her. Desperate for touch, her hyper-sensitive body drank in every sensation. Their noses brushed, then Anne’s pressed against her cheek, and her eyelashes tickled the slope of her cheekbone. Every breath Ann took passed through Anne’s lungs first. The kiss was dry and chaste, but Ann would never forget the gentle give of her lips. Before she pulled away, she wet her lips with her tongue, and dared to press a second kiss—wet, fleeting, teasing—on Anne’s bottom lip. Before Anne had a chance to return it, Ann pulled away, grinning.

Anne’s eyes fluttered open, and her expression turned from serene to stunned.

“That was…very good,” Anne murmured, touching her bottom lip. “And very rude. You should have told me you were good.”

Ann blushed. Under their pretense of friendship, the kiss couldn’t have crossed the line. It was gentle and quick. Yet, it carried the burden of Ann’s real feelings, and it terrified her to think Anne felt the truth of them. She needed to play it off by returning to the banter they mastered on the drive there.

“Thanks for carrying my bags,” Ann said sweetly.

“Oh, now I see what that kiss was for,” Anne accused, grinning.

Anne lifted the bags anyway, strapping them over her shoulder one by one. She looked ridiculous. Ann giggled, then began to remove the ones she could take. Ann kissed her on the cheek. 

“No, they’re not for anything. I’ll kiss you no matter who carries my bags,” she said.

To prove her point, Ann peppered kisses on her cheek, the corner of her mouth, over her slightly parted lips. Unlike the first, they were light, silly things, meant to be annoying instead of affectionate. Anne’s bewildered expression jolted her back to that morning, when she watched Anne beg Mariana for a single kiss just as chaste.

Oh.

“See? All free. No cost,” Ann said shyly, realizing what she’d done.

She shouldn’t have gone for it so enthusiastically. Taking Anne at her word was more than a mistake, it was ignorant of her engagement, and the boundaries of friendship. Ann went too far. She didn’t deserve the brush of Anne’s finger on the tip of her nose, or the gentle peck on her forehead.

“Your future wife is going to be a very lucky woman,” Anne murmured. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”

“It was too much, wasn’t it?” Ann whispered. “I’m sorry, it’s…been awhile. I wasn’t thinking.”

Anne frowned. “You were perfectly sweet. Trust me to tell you if that ever happens, okay?”

“Yes,” Ann said. “Sorry.”

“Stop that,” Anne scolded.

Even as Anne took her hand, Ann bit back the next string of apologies and bottled them in her heart. She already made a fool of herself, and her family had yet to meet Anne. Anne, her girlfriend, for whom she felt insurmountable guilt when they kissed. What could go wrong?

Elizabeth met them first. She rushed to take Ann in a hug. 

“Oh, Ann! I’ve missed you. I’m so excited to meet…?”

“Anne,” Anne said. She held out her hand, but Elizabeth ignored it and hugged her, too. “I’ve been so excited to meet everyone, especially under less sad circumstances. You might not remember me—we used to be neighbors. I was at the funeral.”

Elizabeth stepped back to take Anne in. Ann could tell by her raised eyebrows and forced smile that she did not remember Anne at all.

“Oh! Yes, I remember,” she said. “That was such a horrible time in my life. All the details are a little fuzzy. I’m glad the two of you reconnected. You’re  _ so _ cute together.”

A surge of guilt gripped Ann when she should have been brimming with pride. Anne was everything she wanted, Ann could never truly have her, and at some point she would have to tell her family that she and Anne split up—or worse, tell them the truth. She forgot to consider that reality until this moment. Her grip on Anne’s arm loosened, but Anne held her close.

“Every day, I think about how lucky I am to stand in her presence,” Anne murmured.

Ann blushed and rolled her eyes.

“The opposite is true,” she said, and she meant it.

“If we’re going to have to endure them looking at each other like this all weekend, I’m going to be sick,” Cath muttered to Harriet. “And they’re going to get it back tenfold when I bring someone home.”

Ann scoffed. She opened her mouth to retort, but Anne brushed her lips with a kiss to quiet her. The firm pressure of her mouth on Ann’s turned off the logical function of Ann’s brain like a switch. It was a casual, playful thing, like they’d been intimate for years instead of minutes. Dumbfounded, Ann met Anne’s smirk with a shy, glazed-over giggle.

Unaware of Ann’s brain-dead state, Anne extended her hand to Catherine. She said, “Catherine, it’s an absolute pleasure. I hear you’re the one to talk to about our sleeping arrangements tonight.”

Catherine took it, astonished. “Oh! Er—yes. I didn’t know you were coming. Which is fine! The tent just might be a little tight, with the four of us. But we’ll figure something out,” she said.

“Excellent. I’ve been an avid camper since I was a child, you know. Between the two of us, we’ll work something out,” Anne assured her.

Anne’s body language shifted when she spoke to the others. Around Ann, she was soft, thoughtful, and vulnerable. Here, her stance was wide, she took up space, and everything she said boasted confidence and experience. Ann smiled, remembering Anne’s description of herself as a social butterfly.

Cath giggled, “I’m sure we will.”

Ann watched the interaction with a raised eyebrow. Catherine’s brash exterior rarely gave way to girlish giggling so quickly. Harriet was a bit of a snob—and never really got along as well with Ann as she did Catherine—but seemed to drink in every word Anne had to say. Maybe it was Anne’s charm or masculine swagger, but she already had both women wrapped around her finger.

The regret festering in her stomach began to recede. While her affection for Anne made the weekend a challenge, Anne’s presence was the buffer she needed to keep hold of her sanity around her family. Cath and Harriet would have drowned her in their drama, she and Eliza would have bickered while William tried to play the neutral party, but Anne charmed them all. When the man meant to court her cleared his throat, she thanked every god in existence, both the new and the old, for Anne. 

Elizabeth jumped to introduce him. She said shyly, “Ann, Anne, this is Alex. He’s one of George’s friends.”

Ann pitied him for being dragged unwittingly into the situation. He wore confusion plainly on his face. Despite the awkwardness, he smiled and shook each of their hands politely.

“Your family was so kind to invite me. Elizabeth talks as much about you as she does her own children, I feel like we’re friends already, he said.

Ann gave him a tight-lipped smile. Anne at her arm was a blessing a thousand times over, especially now, meeting the man she would have spent the entire weekend trying to avoid. Rejecting them felt crueler when they were kind.

“Oh, um, that’s very nice of her,” Ann said.

They stood in awkward silence, trading tight-lipped smiles. Anne struck up an uninteresting conversation about tents with Catherine, and Ann tried to have a conversation with her sister entirely through body language. Elizabeth furrowed her brows in confusion, but Ann couldn't place what a tight-lipped smile, taut jaw, and eyebrow quirked in the direction of the house didn’t scream “please end this and just invite us all inside.” 

Either through telepathic communication or prompted by the blaring alarm on her phone, Elizabeth finally waved them inside. “Come on in, then! Dinner’s just about ready. Ann can show you around, Anne, and then you can help Cath set up the tent.”

Ann turned to Anne with an apologetic smile, and Anne beamed. She melted. Fake positivity was something she hated—it demeaned both her anxiety and frustration with how the world worked. Anne’s optimism, however, was genuine. She mined joy from even the most stressful situations, somehow holding frustration and enthusiasm, joy and sadness, the good in the world and evil in the world, together. With Anne, a miserable moment could also be worthwhile.

Between the firm grip of Anne’s hand, the memory of their kiss, and her bright, lovely smile, Ann began to feel a bit of excitement for the weekend ahead.


	8. A Gentle, Yearning Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends and enemies. I have a special treat for you today: not one, but TWO chapters. The second will be posted later 🥰

  
Alex’s handshake was enough to validate their ruse. His grip was weak and slippery, and that was all Anne needed to know about him to dislike him. The idea of kind little Ann being left alone with him on purpose—or by accident—sickened her. Cath and Harriet seemed like sweet young women, but not experienced enough to look out for their friend. Shame.  
  
Anne’s presence made Alex irrelevant. He was the most recent manifestation of the true problem in the family—the sister’s husband. Women like Elizabeth gave away their husband’s transgressions through body language and motivation. Anne understood now what Ann meant when she said she had to come for her sister. George isolated her; Ann was her best friend.  
  
As soon as they entered the house, Ann tugged her aside. The interior of the house was cozy. A massive, antique fireplace at the far end of the living room extended up the vaulted ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the lake. A narrow wooden staircase with dark knots stippled in the planks ascended to the second floor immediately to the right of the door. Still holding her hand, Ann guided her up the steps.  
  
“The tour,” Ann explained shyly.  
  
A rush of affection for the girl warmed Anne’s cheeks and brought a smile to her lips. Ann was precious and sweet, but receded into herself around her boisterous family. She held tightly to Anne’s hand as one might an anchor, orienting herself. Anne’s presence seemed to calm her, but Anne wanted to relax her completely, easing her suffering with the pressure of her fingertips or the brush of her lips. The instinct to kiss Ann chilled her bones like a cold bath.  
  
It was protectiveness, not love, that filled Anne with affection for her. Ann was small, soft, and delicate. The world had already been so cruel to her, it was natural that Anne wanted to shield her from harm as mild as a man who refused to acknowledge her disinterest. It was natural that Anne wanted to smooth away the line between her eyebrows. Kissing her anxiety away like a gentle exorcism was just a natural thing to want to do.  
  
Anne resisted, of course. She squeezed Ann’s hand instead. At first, Anne wondered if hand-holding crossed the line between friendship and romance—and maybe it would, if Mariana was present, and she’d be obliged to hold hers instead—but the gesture relaxed Ann. They were close. Ann communicated everything through touch and body language. It was natural.  
  
“Nothing up here is touched, really. The kids sleep in Elizabeth’s old room, here,” Ann said, pushing open the first door.   
  
The room was small and modest. The bed, desk, and boxes of personal belongings pressed flush against the wall to make room for a lime green child’s tent in the center. Three tiny sleeping bags circled a toy lantern in the center. Anne grinned.  
  
“Are you sure that isn’t for us? Looks like Catherine’s dark work,” Anne teased.  
  
Ann hit her arm gently. “Can you imagine trying to fit in one of those?” she said, grimacing. “So claustrophobic. If we even could.”  
  
“You’re small enough,” Anne observed.  
  
Ann smacked her harder.  
  
“Ow!” Anne exclaimed, though it didn’t really hurt. “I thought you said you weren’t going to hit me?”  
  
“You seemed disappointed,” Ann recalled devilishly. “And, um, there’s only one room left up here. Mine. And _don’t_ laugh.”

Ann was possibly the most precious thing in the world. Nothing behind the door could change that. Anne met Ann’s trepidatious expression with a kiss on the forehead—the only physical reassurance she could offer.   
  
“I wouldn’t dare,” she promised.  
  
When Ann pushed open the door, she swallowed. Anne’s smile froze while her eyes widened. It was a teenage girl’s room frozen in time. Hot pink and black exploded from everything to her walls, the posters on them, and a checkered comforter. A collection of studded belts and shirts in various hues of black peeked out from the closet. Printed, cut-out photos of people Anne wasn’t quite sure the gender of littered the wall beside her bed with hand-drawn hearts around their faces. A CD player caked in dust sat on the desk near her pillow, and a stack of CDs Anne didn’t recognize was piled beside it.  
  
“Wow,” Anne said.   
  
“Don’t,” Ann warned.  
  
“No, I just—suddenly remembered that you’re very young,” Anne said, a smile playing on her lips.  
  
Ann groaned, “Lord. If you remember me from this time period, don’t tell me.”  
  
Anne’s memories of Ann were fuzzy and unclear. She remembered a shy girl with a lovely smile, meticulously curled hot-pink and black extensions, and not much else. They waved at each other in the mornings before school and work. Mariana, usually in the car when they passed, teased Anne about her “funny little friend,” and that was where the memories stopped.  
  
“You have to remember I was also young and very self-involved,” Anne said. “And I’d just met Mariana. I had more pressing matters than pondering the cultural machinations of the youth. If you felt a deep inclination to return to this color palette, though, I don’t think I’d mind. It’s very ‘you.’”

  
“Okay, yes, we’re done here,” Ann said, lunging to close the door.  
  
Anne stopped her, holding the door open with her arm. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said gently.   
  
Ann flushed, melting beneath her. They were so close, yet Ann didn’t step back, and Anne couldn’t bring herself to put distance between them. Ann and Mary were so different from one another. Mariana was abrasive, confident, and strong-willed, traits Anne admired and respected in a person. Their history was rich, long, and complicated, and they had a dynamic most struggled to understand. Even her Aunt Anne still asked about Mary cautiously, despite the finality of their engagement. Anne truly loved her—that was real and unquestionable.   
  
And then there was Ann. A kind, shy, unexpected thing, who played off Anne’s energy with ease. Ann’s thoughtful questions and offhand affection revitalized her. Being around Ann was easy until this moment, when the consequence of each charged touch and longing look clubbed her all at once with one gentle, yearning thought.  
  
 _I wish this was real_.

Anne drank in Ann’s perfume like she needed it to breathe. All it would take was the tilt of her head for their lips to touch. The air hummed with the possibility. They’d kissed already, yet the performative aspect was a step removed from what Anne wanted in the moment, which was real, tense, and unforgivable. She wanted the warm wet of Ann’s mouth. She wanted to brush her tongue on the inside of Ann’s cheek, and to feel rather than hear Ann’s sharp gasp when she bit down on her soft, lovely lip. The anticipation of it stilled the air in the room. 

Ann closed her eyes. A smirk curled the corner of Anne’s mouth.  
  
“Ann? Are you—"  
  
Anne jumped. A yelp burst from Ann’s mouth. They turned to the stairwell with wide eyes, like they’d been caught doing something inappropriate. They weren’t, of course, in the eyes of Ann’s family, who thought they were together. But Anne’s conscience flooded with guilt.   
  
Ann, still flushing, crossed her arms. “What, Cath?”  
  
Catherine, who had the tent strapped over her shoulder, froze halfway up the stairs. She grimaced, backing away

slowly.   
“I see I’ve interrupted something. I was just—I’ll just see myself out,” she said.  
  
“You weren’t,” Ann said coolly. “What do you want?

The change in Ann’s demeanor when talking to her family was swift. Anne wanted to kiss away the tension in her jaw. Gentle, playful nips trailing below her ear to the tip of her chin.  
  
She scolded herself as soon as she had the thought. Ann was her friend. Ann was not her lover, and certainly not her fiancée. Anne was different than before. She had changed. She didn’t fall in love with random girls anymore when she and Mary fought, and needed to prove that to Mary and her family. Anne would resist, if not for Mary, then for Ann, who she refused to drag into their eternal drama.

Catherine said, “Well, um, Elizabeth has dinner ready. And I was wondering if you were ready to set up the tent after?”

Anne turned to Ann. “Are you okay with cutting our tour short?”

“You’ve already seen the living room, so there are just the bathrooms left. Nothing very exciting,” Ann answered, shrugging. “I wanted to get the worst over first.”

“This peek into your childhood is absolutely the highlight of this trip,” Anne jabbed.

That teased a soft smile from Ann’s lips. Anne expected to receive a light smack, but instead, Ann held her arm as they descended the stairs. They began a light conversation about the music on Ann’s desk, and Catherine boisterously joined in. 

Dinner was a lavish feast of charred hot dogs, burgers, an array of cold salads, and cupcakes. When Anne learned that George had grilled the meat, she considered commenting loudly about how dry and unseasoned the burger was. She whispered the suggestion in Ann’s ear, so close her hair tickled Anne’s nose.

Ann giggled, then her eyes widened at the suggestion. “No!” she hissed, and slapped Anne’s knee under the table.

“You’re quite violent, you know,” Anne teased. “So much hitting today.”

In lieu of a reply, Ann kissed the corner of her mouth angrily. It was a laughable thing, until Anne realized part of the punishment was the dab of mustard clinging to her face like a lipstick mark.

She scoffed and tried to wipe it away, but Ann stopped her.

“Let me,” Ann said.  
  
In a stroke of uncharacteristic courage, she licked the corner of Anne’s mouth. The touch lasted only a moment, but felt like an eternity, the feather-light sensation stoking a heat deep in her gut.

Ann couldn’t have been privy to her thoughts upstairs, yet the firm, warm pressure of Ann’s tongue was everything she imagined. Anne was rarely left speechless by a kiss or gesture of affection. She touched the wet corner of her mouth in astonishment, unsure what to say.

While Anne gathered words, the rest of the table imploded. 

“Really? In front of my burger?” Harriet said, evidently referencing something that made Catherine and Ann double over in laughter.

Catherine snorted. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Everyone else seemed to not care except George, who removed the napkin from his lap and stood up to leave. Ann grinned proudly.

Ann Walker was more conniving than anyone gave her credit for.

“That was much better than my idea,” Anne conceded. “But it is dry.”

After dinner, Anne helped Catherine set up the tent. Rather, it was the other way round, when Catherine watched in absolute horror and not a small amount of regret when Anne balled up the directions and tossed them into the campfire. Ann’s laughter was worth any frustration the two of them would have to endure.

“Oh, I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Catherine snapped at Ann, who still lay giggling in the grass.

“We’re intelligent and capable women, Catherine. We don’t need the directions,” Anne said, unfolding the poles. “Plus, look at the mirth on your cousin’s face. Isn’t that worth any price?”

Catherine rolled her eyes, grumbling. Despite her many complaints, the two of them assembled the tent in no time at all, and rolled out the sleeping bags. There were only three. Anne couldn’t stop the blush from reaching her ears. Her enthusiasm for sleeping in the tent was primarily based in taking the awkwardness out of their sleeping situation—and now, she looked like a fool.

“Do you, um, have a fourth?” Anne said.

Catherine shook her head. Revenge found its way to her in a smile. She said, “You and Ann will have to share, I guess.”

“What’s going on?” Ann called from the other side.

“We only have three sleeping bags,” Catherine called. “And your girlfriend seems nervous about sleeping with you. It’s almost like she forgot her earplugs.”

Ann wandered over, her face as beet red as Anne’s. She said, “Anne are you comfortable...sharing one?”

Was Anne supposed to say no? Was it acceptable if she said yes? Their game hadn’t seemed so complicated until now, when the layers of meaning muddled with her now very real feelings and strict moral compass. Anne fought to keep her confusion from bleeding into her expression. They were friends, surely. Anne endured far more awkward situations with Mariana. It wasn’t like Ann felt the same.

“That’s fine,” Anne said.  
  
This was going to be a disaster.


	9. A Gentle, Yearning Thot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but very sweet. I wanted to savor this one all on its own.

When Anne dreaded something, the impending doom of it touched and tainted every moment before. Anne was always a romantic. She was easily seduced by wealthy and beautiful women as a youth. Ann Walker was both of those things, but the reasons Anne cared for her were far greater than surface-level fantasies. Anne could resist those now—she had, many times, and her love and commitment to Mariana brought her back. Until Ann.

Ann Walker was different. Or, perhaps, she and Mary’s relationship was different. Stress from Mary’s work, the pressure of her family, and the new and building frustration from announcing their engagement applied tension to their relationship in new ways. The weight was visible, like the screaming white of stretched plastic, and they had only to persevere or break. They weathered so much together. This was nothing at all.

It wasn’t Ann. It wasn’t. Not the way Ann looked up to her as if in awe, like every word spilling out of Anne’s foolish mouth was worth drinking in. Not the soft and easy way she tolerated— _ welcomed _ —Anne’s more eccentric habits. Not the way Ann initiated affection like it was free to give, like an exchange of mutual fondness, and never left Anne begging in a way she’d never known before. Ann craved to be touched almost as much as she did, but it wasn’t that. They were friends. Kindred spirits, maybe, lovers from another lifetime, if reincarnation was true, but nothing more.

Sometimes soulmates were fated to be friends and not lovers. Friendship could be just as meaningful.

These were the things she told herself like a mantra when she and Ann tucked in to the sleeping bag together under the aloof presence of Catherine and Harriet. By the light of the fluorescent lamp, Anne saw the hint of a blush on Ann’s cheeks, and supposed her own nervousness showed in a crimson flush. They sat across from each other on top of the bag, close enough that their low whispers sounded like nonsense to the other girls.

“Can I take the outside? When it gets stuffy, I get nervous. That way I can open it and breathe,” Ann said.

While she spoke, Ann’s eyes flicked down to her boxer briefs and back up. Mariana hated that Anne wore them; she thought they looked too boyish. Did Ann hate them too? Anne’s cheeks burned as she fought the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm her.

“Should I wear something else?” Anne said. She hated the edge in her tone.

“Oh! No. They just, um, they look—they fit you. I used to try wearing them, but they never looked as good on me as they do you,” Ann said quickly. Horror surfaced on her face when she realized what she said. “Oh, god, sorry. That was poorly worded. You look—they’re—no, you shouldn’t change. That’s all I mean.”

Her astonishment snapped Anne back. Anne assumed the worst, when Ann was only ever sweet and kind. She was unsettled, each wave of affection rocking her like a small boat on a stormy sea, and lashed out, looking for a fight. Anne needed to reign herself in.

Anne slid in first, as far back as she could, then held the top aloft for Ann to squeeze in however she wanted. Ann busied her hands on the hem of her white t-shirt. She sat next to Anne, not quite ready to lay down, and leaned back against the pillow. 

Ann’s soft white legs stretched out before Anne, her thigh inches from Anne’s face. The freckles splattered over Ann’s cheeks dotted her thighs. Anne’s lips parted when she saw a tiny brown circle, no larger than a pinpoint, just beneath the hem of her night shorts. She wanted to kiss Ann there, gently, wetly, give her a soft nip, and move on to the next. Her entire world, every breath, focused on that small patch of skin. 

Finally, Ann slid down, facing away from her. They adjusted in the sleeping bag, which was far too small for them, hardly daring to touch the other. Anne tucked one arm under the pillow and the other awkwardly between them.

“Are you comfortable?” Anne said.

“Your arm’s poking my back,” Ann whispered.

Anne untucked it and held it aloft over their bodies. Her wrist already buzzed from the discomfort.

“Where do you want it?”

Ann took her arm and draped over her waist. Her small hand guided Anne’s to rest gently on her belly. Heat like liquid metal pooled between Anne’s legs. Their bodies pressed flush together. The fabric of their underclothes was thin enough that the pressure of Ann’s bum against her hips and thighs skyrocketed Anne’s imagination. Anne was helpless to smooth her hand down Ann’s soft belly, tease her fingers below the lip of her clothes, and pet the scratchy hair beneath until Ann gave her permission to dip further. Her imagination was so real, so immediate, so possible.

“Is this uncomfortable? You’re stretching my shirt,” Ann whispered.

In an effort to tame her fantasy, Anne had balled up the hem of Ann’s shirt in a fist. She smoothed it back over her stomach with a mumbled apology. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing Mariana to appear behind them. Ann’s small bum, spiraling hair, and gentle snores as she drifted to sleep were so different. Thinking of Mary while holding her felt wrong.

Anne lay frozen for minutes or hours while Ann and the other girls drifted to sleep. Between her internal battle and Ann’s blaring snores, she knew she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Ann’s body was a curse to her, not because she was beautiful—she was—but because of the way they fit together so smoothly, and how, even sleeping, Ann demanded affection from her. She held and hugged her arm, and halfway through the night, turned to face her, swinging her leg over Anne’s thigh.

Later, when Ann adjusted again, she left a smear of gleaming arousal across Anne’s thigh. Anne wasn’t going to think about that. She wasn’t going to think about that. She wasn’t going to think about that.

Anne concentrated on Ann’s face, the only thing she could see in their awkward, cocoon-like sleeping arrangement. She traced her finger down Ann’s face from her forehead to the slightly lifted tip of her nose. Ann’s skin was marble white in the filtered moonlight of the tent. She was a sculptor in ancient Greece, molding a perfect being with the tip of her finger. Ghosting the velvet of her lips was an art within itself; she had to be delicate, and held her breath in concentration. 

Ann wrinkled her nose. Without opening her eyes, Ann mumbled, “That tickles.”

“You’re like a sculpture,” Anne said. 

Anne traced the bridge of her nose, the swell of her cheekbone, and her soft lips teasingly. Ann giggled gently at the touch. She fought Anne playfully, nipping at her hand, until finally she caught Anne’s finger between her teeth. She bit down gently, then sucked her fingertip.

The sharp nip of pain and her warm, wet mouth was too much. Ann was soft, loving, perfect, and already in her arms. Anne wanted all of herself in that mouth. A groan nearly tore itself from her throat.

“Ann, you can’t do that,” Anne warned.

“Why?” 

“You just can’t.”

Ann dared her with another bite.

Anne kissed her. She took Ann’s lips slowly with her own, giving her every opportunity to pull or turn away. She didn’t. Anne savored every bit of her, nipping her top lip, sucking her bottom lip, touching her tongue. Their tongues brushed. The warm, prodding pressure of Ann’s tongue slackened her mouth, and Ann returned every bit she received. Ann’s saliva moistened her lips and chin and the heavy scent of it filled her nose. Wet squeaks from Anne sucking her bottom lip and their heavy breathing filled the tent. Ann giggled and pulled away.

“Cath’s asleep,” Ann said.  _ We don’t have to do this _ .

“Hmm, I don’t know. I think she’s awake,” Anne murmured.  _ I know, I want to do this. I need to. Let’s give ourselves the excuse, shall we _ ?

They kissed again. Anne was conscious of where she rested her hands; she didn’t want to move too quickly for Ann. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair. Her heavy, shuddering breaths buffeted Anne’s mouth, and then a groan slipped from Ann’s throat.

Somewhere close behind them a ruffle of blankets was as loud as a gunshot in the night. They jerked apart. 

Catherine hissed, “Oh my god.  _ Please  _ stop.”

Anne laughed. Her head hit the pillow, and she fell asleep. 


	10. Understanding

Ann dreamt about Anne’s mouth. Anne’s warm, wet, insistent kisses nipped and sucked her lips and cheeks, enveloping her body in a spreading warmth. Each gentle bite sparked a little fire that ran deep into the crevices of her bones, and the caress of Anne’s tongue wiped them clean, until there was only a soothing buzz starting anew every few seconds like slow, lapping waves. She sank into the rhythm, then returned it, her own wandering hands slipping up Anne’s shirt to smooth the taut bulge of her abdomen, holding on to tether her soul to her body before it slipped away.

When her eyes fluttered open, Anne’s tongue was in her mouth, and she realized that it was real. Still in the fog of sleep, she murmured something, and Anne’s low, gentle voice eased her back in. Ann felt too good to care why it was happening. She only wanted it to continue. She scraped her fingernails gently down Anne’s stomach, then tangled her hands in Anne’s hair, pressing her close. Their wet kisses filled the tent. Ann mumbled something about Catherine being asleep, and Anne hushed her with a kiss. Her heart fluttered in her chest, latching on to the feeling, the hope, the  _ logic _ that this was real, and happening, and that they might go farther than just kissing because everyone was asleep and this was just for them and it was  _ real _ . All of her dreams were coming true. 

“I think she’s awake,” Anne murmured against her mouth.

Anne must have heard Catherine stirring in the dark. They’d already built up a playful rivalry. This was to annoy Catherine, of course. It wasn’t real. That knowledge didn’t break her like she thought it would. Ann melted into her anyway, pretending, even for a moment, that Anne was hers.

“Oh my god,  _ please _ stop,” Catherine begged.

They pulled apart, giggling. The game was over, yet Ann hummed with want. She wanted Anne’s mouth on hers, licking the curve of her chest, nipping her thighs, drinking in her entire body. Anne sank into the pillow, smirked, then closed her eyes. She fell asleep quickly, her breathing deep and slow.

Ann’s heart raced. Anne had no idea what her body, her kisses, her touch, or her attention did to her. It was more than a gush of affection spiraling through her insides, it was a surge in her blood and a deep, gnawing ache between her legs. She needed Anne’s long fingers trailing her skin, her hair brushing her thighs while her mouth crept lower, and her low voice in her ear, murmuring promises Ann might beg her to fulfill. Yearning for it made sleeping impossible.

The air outside grew stuffy as the night wore on. Ann imagined a dozen fantasies behind her eyes like bedtime stories to help her fall asleep. None of them worked with Anne laying behind her, pressing their bodies flush together. Heat radiated from them and drenched the blanket. Ann threw it off of them both.

Anne’s boxer briefs and tight, muscular thighs were white and gray from the moonlight. Ann absently fingered the stitching on Anne’s briefs. She held her breath, listening for any change in Anne’s breathing if she stirred awake.

Her fingertip traced the outline of the rough curls beneath. Heat gathered between her legs as her finger drew lower, over the lip of Anne’s boxers and onto her naked thigh. She squeezed the muscle there, smiling gently when Anne hummed in her sleep. Ann traced between her slightly spread legs, where her fingertip caught a sticky pool of arousal soaking through the fabric. Holding her breath, Ann ran her fingernails lightly over the spot. Anne groaned from the pressure, and her legs spread a little further.

Ann snapped her hand back, breathing hard.

_ What the hell are you doing, Ann? _ she scolded herself.

Ann felt like a fool. Their kiss was intimate, loving, and charged with something Ann couldn’t name—and maybe it didn’t have a name, because she was starved for touch and affection and even being in Anne’s presence, holding her hand, being the object of her attention in a conversation, filled a vacancy in her soul whose depth she didn’t know before. She was being dramatic. There was nothing between them, because Anne was engaged, and Ann was projecting her feelings into Anne’s expressions and actions. She was naive and foolish, and that was the beginning and the end.

Ann rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. Birds started singing before she finally drifted to sleep.

***

Ann woke up from the heat more than anything else. Sunlight hit the tent full on, thickening the air and drenching her in sweat until her discomfort was so great that she couldn’t sleep any longer. Gentle laughter outside the tent increased her self-consciousness, not only of how long she slept, but also how she looked—frizzy hair, sunken circles under her eyes, and her face itchy and red from the rough pillow. She was an absolute mess.

Next time, Ann would say no to sleeping in the tent, the inevitable ensuing fight with Cath be damned. 

Outside, Harriet, Cath, and Elizabeth sat around a fire making gentle conversation while Anne made breakfast. Anne was so comfortable around her family. The easy way she smiled and poked fun at Cath tugged at Ann’s heart, pulling it down to her stomach. It sat there, bubbling and churning while guilt and grief and whatever other negative emotions existed overcame her.

_ It isn’t, real, Ann. Stop seeing her that way. Stop it _ .

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Anne called.

Anne had changed from her pajamas to jeans and a loose flannel over a tank top. She drew Ann close with a free arm, kissing the top of her head. Despite herself, Ann melted into the touch, burying her nose in the soft flannel and inhaling the scent of fresh detergent. It was so easy. It was so easy, Ann fell in step with the affection, and almost forgot to be stressed. 

Anne’s hair was hastily twisted into a messy braid, dangling at her shoulder while she leaned over the fire, monitoring something that was popping and sizzling in the pan. Ann absently coiled the braid with her finger while she inspected it.

“They’ve already cajoled you into making breakfast,” Ann observed.

“No, no, this is my own doing. Everyone was up so early, I thought breakfast might brighten the mood,” Anne explained cheerfully. “I’m known for my sausage, you know.”

Ann almost teased her for being lewd. She bit her tongue, but allowed a small smile to touch her lips.

“I didn’t know,” Ann said.

“Mmm, well, you’re about to find out.”

Anne’s confidence was an easy thing to find attractive. She presented the plates to her family as though she were a master chef and they, awestruck and mortal, would only gush at her culinary artistry. Ann didn’t have that. If their roles were switched, Ann would warn them about burnt bits and ends, coyly presenting the meal like they were expert critics, ready to remark if the meat was tough or dry. And they probably would.

Everyone ate their breakfast, making lazy conversation between scraping forks and the crackle of the fire. She sat next to Ann on the picnic table, slightly separated from the rest of the group. Their legs brushed. Anne didn’t seem to notice.

“So. Are you lazy campers, or is every moment filled with an activity?” Anne asked between bites.

“Elizabeth likes to take a hike around the lake usually. She’ll probably ask us soon,” Ann said, grimacing. “It’s awful. They always complain how slow I walk, but I’m so clumsy.”

Almost as soon as she said it, Elizabeth stood up and began collecting empty plates. When she got to them, Anne took the plates from her, and Elizabeth gave Anne a look she’d never given any of Ann’s partners before. Affectionate, maybe. Awestruck. Ann didn’t know how to place it, but the guilt stewing earlier surfaced.

“Well, I don’t know what you two have planned, but I was thinking we could go for a little walk?” Elizabeth suggested hopefully.

_ Mhmm _ , Ann though sourly.

“That sounds wonderful. But Ann seems a little tired. Are you up for a walk?” Anne asked gently.

Anne’s thoughtfulness for her continued to astound her. Ann didn’t like to make a habit of complaining, but the conflict warring inside her soured her mood. Her sister needed the walk, she knew that, and couldn’t refuse. But the gesture sparked a flourishing warmth in her chest.

Anne was perfect. She loved her. She  _ loved _ her.

“No, I can go,” Ann replied. On the way to the kitchen, she muttered bitterly to Anne, “What’s the entire saying? ‘Speak of the devil, and she’ll burn the bridge.’”

“Not quite. But that’s much better,” Anne laughed.

“I love Elizabeth, but being around her—or maybe it’s just being around the entire family—is so exhausting. I love her, but it takes so much energy to be around her. Does that makes sense?” Ann explained.

Anne grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I’m the same with Mariana sometimes. When she’s in one of her moods, she can be quite like a vampire. Sucking energy. But I love her. So, yeah, I get it,” Anne said.

At the tip of Ann’s tongue was, “That isn’t what I was saying at all,” but she bit it back. Telling Anne her fiancée didn’t deserve her didn’t feel right, especially because of her own self-interest. But she didn’t want to validate Anne’s feelings, either. She bit her tongue.

“Elizabeth doesn’t really get in moods. I guess I mean, her husband is so uncomfortable, so domineering, she has to engineer ways for us to talk, instead of just  _ talking _ . I mean, it isn’t all him, I guess she’s always been this way, but she just lets everything weigh down her life, and I—oh, lord, I’m rambling. I’m being very boring. I’m sorry,” Ann stuttered.

Ann had hardly been awake an hour and the events of day were already taking their toll. Her mind always spun with anxiety, but in her stupidity and exhaustion she let Anne witness the circles her brain travelled, like a string of interconnected figure eights. Everything spilling out of her mouth was nonsense. As usual.

“You’re not boring,” Anne said. “Sometimes it helps to talk things through. It’s a difficult situation, and you’re doing your best to be a supportive sister. That’s a good thing.”

Ann flushed at the compliment. While Anne ran the faucet and began scrubbing dishes, Ann held her tongue so she didn’t sound like a babbling idiot. Elizabeth’s home life, trauma caused by their parent’s sudden deaths that they both struggled to heal from, and now this new—silly in comparison, but new and overwhelming—crush on the one person who made her feel alive all weighed on her shoulders. Ann was weak-willed and a pushover; when it came to standing up to George, she was powerless to help her sister.

Ann didn’t know what to say, so she chose to let silence fill the room instead. Anne stopped scrubbing to turn to her, and they shared a smile. With a wet and soapy hand, Anne tugged her into a side hug. She scream-laughed from the soaking touch but didn’t resist. Anne held her close and kissed her hair. 

The intimacy emboldened Ann. She rested her hand on the plane of Anne’s chest and kissed her. Anne was resistant at first, but soon melted into her touch. There was no hunger or ferocity in the movement of their mouths. It was delicate. It rang with gratitude and affection Ann didn’t know how to verbalize.

When Ann pulled away, she realized what she’d done. She kissed Anne when no one else was around; it was real in a way their other kisses weren’t, and was impossible to ignore, but felt natural and easy. She froze as embarrassment sank in.

“Sorry,” Ann whispered, breathless. “I—I just, I’m used to it, with my family always around, and I-I didn’t think about it—"

“I’m not upset, Ann,” she said gently. “It was nice. You’re affectionate. I understand.”

Anne kissed her back lightly. It was soft and chaste, more delicate than a held breath, and belonged only to her. She didn’t have to share it with anyone else. Ann could have died in that moment and been happy.

Anne pulled away and continued scrubbing. Ann didn’t even care that her skirt was wet and soapy. All she could think about was Anne’s kiss, her gentleness, her ability to read Ann’s mind and soothe her with a touch or a word. Maybe Anne already knew that Ann was hopelessly in love with her, and that it was okay. She could work through her feelings for Anne, she could learn to understand her affection for Mariana, and they could finally be friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it hasn't been too long, and that you're ready for another chapter tomorrow. ;) It's going to be about as close to angst as I can get (read: not very close). Let me know what you think!


	11. It's Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day later than I promised, but that time was well spent, and you get to read a better chapter because of it! <3 I hope that in the ensuing text, you will note that I sprinkled in thirst even when it was unnecessary, and I hope that functions as a sort of gift or peace offering to you for later.

Ann followed the narrow hiking trail on the perimeter of the lake a thousand times, most of them when she was a child. Memories of large headphones jammed over her head and staring down at the dirt through her ugly blond hair and outgrown extensions flooded back to her. How many times had she walked this trail thinking of Anne, the then-stranger she could never have? As much as Ann thought she’d grown up, she was somehow the same, only listening to her sister chatter beside her instead of stewing in the middle of a Saosin track.

Elizabeth’s hand on her arm and giggling whisper in her ear brought Ann to the surface.

“I really like this one, Ann,” Elizabeth said. “And I can tell how good you are for each other.”

The affection in her sister’s eyes reminded Ann of their mother. It was a jarring thing to think—the wrinkles at the corners of Elizabeth’s eyes matched ones she could barely remember. Her face could have been their mother’s face, and for a moment Ann was overwhelmed with it, fighting to push the thought from her brain. She hated thinking about the disappointment her mother would feel for her now, toward her unwed and childless daughter, who resorted to lies and tricks to her own family to avoid talking about the larger issues.

Ann hated lying to her sister. They grew closer after their parents passed, and rarely kept secrets from each other. Guilt churned her stomach. Together, they watched Anne tease Catherine on the path ahead. She brushed the tip of Cath’s elbow lightly with the map and jumped out of reach before Catherine spun round, searching for the insect. Anne blended so well with her family. Somehow, that made deceiving them harder. 

Ann had to tell her sister the truth. Not George and his mother, obviously, the lie was mostly for them. She needed to warn Elizabeth from getting attached, from expecting Ann to find anyone as perfect as this, and steel her against the heartbreak that would come when Ann inevitably had to tell her they “broke up.”

She took a deep breath, and said, “Elizabeth, I need to—oh!”

Ann’s right foot hooked on a surfaced root and plunged her face down into the dirt. She felt rather than heard her ankle twist and snap as all her bodyweight rested on it, and screamed from the shock. Before she could catch herself, she rolled halfway down the hill, her arms and legs banging against exposed rocks. The searing pain she expected never came. Instead, her body hummed, and numbness washed through her leg and foot like lapping waves.

“I’m—I’m okay,” Ann gasped. She unhooked her boot gingerly and scrambled to get up, but Anne’s hand on her thigh pressed her back down. “I can keep going.”

“You aren’t,” Anne said. “That’s adrenaline. Mary once crashed her bike, got up, and walked three blocks before it hit her all at once and she called me sobbing to pick her up. Nothing was broken, thank god, but she had scratches and scrapes all over her body. It was a mess.”

Elizabeth, Harriet, and Cath circled them while Anne removed her boot and shock to check her ankle for swelling. Ann flushed from the attention, feeling ridiculous and clumsy and stupid and everything else. She always forgot to pick her feet up on this part of the trail. 

Propped up against a tree with Anne tending to her ankle, any embarrassment faded as Anne continued to examine her, her eyebrow raised in laughable professionalism. Ann couldn’t help the smile that reached her lips. 

When Anne looked up curiously, Ann explained, “I’m sorry—thank you so much, seriously, but…do you know what you’re doing?”

“I studied pre-med when I was younger. I know a thing or two about first aid,” Anne said. “Your ankle is swollen, but I don’t think it’s broken. It looks like a sprain. It needs a splint, though.”

“Do you think a hospital will deliv—oh,” Ann sucked her teeth, holding back a groan as the first throb of pain burst in her ankle. “Oh, oh, I feel it now. I feel it.”

Ann hated the tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t explain that it hurt, but it wasn’t that bad, yet her body was overwhelmed by the need to cry. It hit her all at once. Anne brushed her hair tenderly and kissed the tears from each of her cheeks.

“It’s alright. It’s just shock. Just breathe,” Anne said.

“It really doesn’t hurt that bad,” Ann said, sobbing. “Why am I crying?”

Anne bit back a laugh. “It’s just your body reacting. This happens sometimes. It’ll pass, I promise.”

Ann’s body trembled of its own accord. Her ankle throbbed, but between the sobs crashing through her and Anne’s firm grip on her calf turning her brain to air, Ann could hardly feel any pain at all. She tried to gather enough words to form a coherent sentence asking Anne for another kiss, but her sister, intent on shattering each and every one of her fantasies, interrupted.

“How do we make a splint?” Elizabeth said.

“A couple thick sticks and a cloth or rope to tie it together would do, at least until we could get her back home,” Anne said. “Shame, I usually have a kit I bring with me, just in case.” 

They gathered the sticks easily. However, there wasn’t a spare handkerchief or belt between the five women, and Ann’s sock was too small to be useful. Elizabeth clutched her cardigan protectively, Catherine tried and miserably failed to weave a rope from the long grasses, and Harriet sat on her phone, waiting for the event to be finished. Ann locked eyes with Anne, who took a deep breath.

“That’s fine, I’m not attached to this shirt, anyway,” Anne said briskly.

Ann watched with widening eyes as a stray thought in her brain became reality. Ann pulled her t-shirt over her head and tore the cloth into strips, but instead of retaining a cool and calm demeanor—which, to be honest, she never exactly excelled at—Ann stared at her wide, muscular, gleaming shoulders. The screaming pain in her ankle spiked when Anne tightened the splint, and Ann sucked in a breath.

“That bad?” Anne said, concerned. “Then there’s no way you’re walking out of here.”

“Guess I’ll crawl,” Ann joked, but it left her mouth as a strangled groan.

“Are you opposed to being carried bridal style back to the car?” Anne asked shyly. 

If Ann’s body and brain were ever at war, it was now. Her brain blared red and rang like a siren while her body disconnected and moved of its own accord. The pain at her ankle reduced to a dull, annoying throb.

“That’s fine,” Ann said, though she didn’t remember giving her mouth the command to say it. 

She was in love with Anne. Nothing was fine about that. There was nothing “fine” about Anne lifting her gingerly in her arms, the heavy musk of her sweat that clouded her senses, or the sticky, godly sensation of wrapping her arms around Anne’s neck. It wasn’t “fine,” and it wasn’t “okay,” either. It was cruel. It was torment. When Anne kissed her gently on the lips, her soul left her body, and she willed it never to return.

***

The girl’s clumsiness was endearing. Her fall gave Anne the excuse to play the hero, and it would be a lie to say she didn’t love projecting bravado and impressing four women at once with her survival expertise. Judging by the blush flourishing across Ann’s cheeks when Anne gathered her in her arms, she liked to be taken care of as much as Anne liked taking control.

Mary was the same, Anne reminded herself. She liked to take, and Anne liked to give. That was the way things were. 

The rest of the day was spent tending to Ann, who loathed the attention given to her. She and Alex rummaged through an old shed in search of a pair of crutches Elizabeth used when she broke her foot playing football as a teenager. They salvaged rusty bedframes, deflated basketballs, and worn volleyball nets. They lay each piece out on the lawn in silence, until Alex cracked a joke and they sparked a menial conversation. Anne began to think her first impressions of the man were a bit harsh.

Harsh, but not unjustified. Anne didn’t feel any remorse at all on the matter, but he was good enough company.

The two of them made a day’s work out of cleaning and reorganizing the shed. Elizabeth’s old crutches were buried under and old mattress, both a little rusted and one bent enough to be unusable. That evening, the shed was entirely reorganized, and Anne presented the crutch to Ann with more than a little flourish.

“Finally,” Ann exclaimed, jumping off of the couch. “Ugh, lord, please take me outside. I can feel everyone breathing on me.”

“Of course,” Anne said, offering her arm.

A blush colored Ann’s cheeks and she laughed, smacking Anne’s arm before taking it. Anne would never get over the effect she had on the girl. She was a little flirtatious, maybe, but just enough to get her to blush without crossing the line from friendship to something else. Ann took her arm with one hand and used the crutch to keep balance with the other. 

They sat on a little swinging bench overlooking the lake. The sun set and a wash of crickets began to chirp, joining the chorus of croaks from the water. In some ways, the cacophony here seemed louder than in the city; she wasn’t used to it anymore.

Beside her, Ann hummed with energy, agitated from sitting on the couch all day and playing board games with the other women. She held tightly to Anne’s arm, probably out of habit over the weekend. Anne smiled gently at her. Ann was a precious thing; she didn’t need protection, yet it was impossible not to covet her and keep her hidden from anything that might do harm. She was soft. She was gentle. The warmth and pressure where she touched Anne’s arm marked the axis of the universe.

“What time do you want to head home?” Ann said. “Elizabeth usually ropes me in for another walk in the mornings. That’s taken care of now, though, I guess.”

“I suppose we’ve got to leave bright and early tomorrow, I’m picking up Mary in the afternoon,” Anne said.

Talking about normal life with Ann was strange after spending a weekend pretending it didn’t exist. Tomorrow, Ann would be single and Anne would be engaged. Somehow that imbalance didn’t make sense like it did before, and pressed upon her like a great weight. Perhaps Ann felt that, too, because she let go of Anne’s arm and sunk down in the chair. They stared at the sky instead of each other.

“Anne, why do you love Mariana?” Ann said.

The question should have been simple. Questions like that were so often innocuous; they triggered memories and emotions that burst like a thousand fireworks exploding in canon, each asking to be known as the answer. Anne could rummage through them and never find the right thing. Something would always be missing.

Anne chuckled. Any answer she gave seriously would be a cop-out, one as false as the next. Instead, she explained, “That’s what entire books of poetry are for, aren’t they? To find the answer to that question?”

Ann huffed, frustrated. Anne frowned; she expected a laugh. Had Anne misunderstood her question?

“Do you think she loves you back the same?” Ann pressed. “Love is subjective, complicated, nebulous—all that, whatever. I don’t need you to describe that. I just mean, why do you love her? She seems so…” She trailed off, throwing her hands in the air.

“Rude? Mean?” Anne finished for her, still laughing.

“I know you care about her. I didn’t want to be mean,” Ann said softly. “But yeah.”

The truth was, Anne couldn’t imagine loving anyone less than the fullest. Mariana challenged her, taxed her in ways she could never have imagined, and pushed the boundaries of what was comfortable for Anne—in all areas. Anne was clingy and intense, often too much for Mary to handle. Mary taught her to practice doing things alone. When Mary first announced she was going on the cruise with Charles, Anne felt a burning jealousy toward him that she couldn’t explain, but Mariana encouraged her to temper it. All of those things were growth. Growth was valuable. They were each within themselves a reason to love her. Mariana loved Anne despite herself, and that was proof enough.

Anne said, “That doesn’t matter. All you can do is love someone the fullest you can. And the act of giving that love is its own reward—its own fulfillment. Everything else just comes.” 

Ann’s eyebrows furrowed. She said, “And what about two people loving each other the fullest they can? Is that just supremely lucky? Or is it...something you should demand for yourself?” 

Anne smiled warmly at her. Ann was an idealist, whether from innocence or sewn into the fabric of her being, it was hard to say. She considered herself one, too, but the years of turbulence in her relationships weathered her naïveté. Anne was a realist and an idealist—those things clashed, often in the worst way, and she hesitated to burden Ann, whose bright-eyed vision of the world was a lovely thing to believe. 

Reality could be cruel. Anne thought of Mariana, who struggled to read Anne’s mind in the way she dreamed her lover would. She always had to ask—sometimes beg—for affection and tenderness. That was simply the way it was. The feeling of being loved and giving it was the same powerful surge, and feeling one was enough. Mary loved differently. Anne couldn’t ask her to change. She wouldn’t.

Finally, Anne answered, “How can you demand someone to love you, Ann? To orient themselves differently because of you. To change themselves for you. That isn’t—that’s not ethical. Sometimes it’s just our lot, to be the person who loves someone more than they love you.” 

“And that’s—okay with you?” Ann said incredulously.

“Of course it is. I’m just clingy. I’m intense. I come off as a lot. I can’t expect someone to just return that.” 

“I think you can.” 

“What?” Anne said, sure she misheard.

Ann replied, “I said, I think you can. I think you should.”

Anne looked away from her and back to the navy sky. When she and Mary were young, they shared their dreams with one another. Anne foolishly presented everything she sought in a partner—honestly, unrestrained physical affection, someone who loved to travel, and on and on—hoping that Mary would melt lovingly to her sentiments and declare, “That’s me, Anne.”

Instead, Mary frowned and said flatly, “Anne, that perfect person you have in your head doesn’t exist. It’s not fair to hold a real, actual human being to that standard. It’s not fair to hold  _ me  _ to that standard. I would never ask you to be perfect.”

At the time, Anne seethed with frustration and embarrassment. She was proud of her intelligence, and loved the thrill of indulging her scientific mind. It was silly to cling so tightly to romantic ideals, and yet she couldn’t let them go. Mariana helped her wrangle them free. She helped Anne grow, taught her to love her despite her flaws, and be at peace with the things they could not give to each other. 

Love was hard, but worthwhile. That was what Anne knew. How could she explain this lesson to Ann? It was a nebulous concept, tethered to attraction, humility, joy, guilt, memory, everything—it was something Ann had to experience for herself. She couldn’t be told.

“It’s complicated, Ann,” she finally said.

Ann let out a breath. There was something cute about her when she was upset; it was so unlike her. Anne was thankful Ann couldn’t see the smile at the corner of her lip.

“Are you frustrated with me?” Anne asked.

“No, I’m not,” Ann said. “I just—ugh. It’s not my business. I’m sorry. I just need a minute.”

“No, you can tell me,” Anne begged. “Please. I promise I won’t dismiss you.”

“No, all you’ll say is, ‘it’s complicated,” Ann said, not unkindly. “Which I get. I get that. I know that there are a million reasons why I’m not an authority on your relationship. But you’re perfect. You’re kind, and sweet, and gentle, and when she brushes you off, that’s frustrating to see.”

Anne’s immediate reaction was physical. Her cheeks burned, and her heart thundered in her chest. Ann was wrong. She didn’t understand. It was...complicated. She thought of what Ann witnessed. Mary brushing her kiss off in the car. It was a common thing. She always asked for too much, it was too public, and her too forward. 

“I-I cross boundaries when I’m not thinking,” Anne snapped. “You see my frustration. But you don’t see hers. It’s something we’re working out. That’s what relationships are about, Ann, working things out.” 

Anne regretted the edge in her voice when she finally looked back at Ann. Ann’s expression was muted in the darkness, but her aggression changed something in Ann’s demeanor. Ann pulled away, and left her shoulder suddenly cold. Anne thought she was angry until she spoke.

“I pried too much. I’m sorry,” Ann said. Her voice cracked. Anne could have wept from that sound alone. “I care about you, and it’s been bothering me all weekend, seeing how upset you looked. I didn’t mean to make you angry with me.”

Anne edged closer, and Ann leaned away. She stopped. Anxiety churned her stomach.

“I’m not angry at you. Perhaps we both need sleep. Should we retire for the night, then?” Anne suggested, thinking the promise of a warm cuddle might mend the rift between them.

“No, I think I should sleep in my room tonight. I hope that’s all right. With my ankle, and then waking everyone in the tent with my snoring…” she trailed off, sounding as disappointed as Anne felt.

Ann shuffled to the house, leaving Anne alone on the bench. She sat, listening to the crickets and frogs, wondering how she got herself into trouble with a woman she was only pretending to date. 


	12. Rose-Colored Lenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I’m posting this from my phone, so if the formatting’s off it will be fixed later today when I get home from work. 🥰 Enjoy!
> 
> I know I’ve included gaslighting in the tags but if it’s something that triggers you, please skip the last bit of the chapter! (I’ll mark the section like *~* instead of the usual ***) Title is from a quote that hit me hard: “You know, it’s funny, when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all those red flags just look like flags.”

Ann woke in the dead of night from a bad dream. Her heart thundered in her chest while fear and dread stuffed her throat and the nightmare faded too slowly. Something about her sister being kidnapped. And something about Anne—saving her? Taking her? Something about Anne getting shot in the process, but as Ann reached for the memory, it slipped between her fingers. After a few seconds it was gone, but Ann lay still in her childhood bed, on edge and wide awake.

What had teenage Ann thought about in this room? She stressed about a thousand things that didn’t matter, and a thousand more that didn’t scale with the problems of the world. A  maths assignment she no longer remembered. An argument with a friend whose face she’d forgotten. A slew of curses she’d bit back in a fight with her father, who at this moment she’d give anything in the world to hug. Perhaps it was wrong to hate teen Ann for her stupidity, but she did. 

Everything was different at thirty. Ann had flourished from an awkward, gangly thing into womanhood, and now she was a bit more weathered. Thin lines shadowed the corners of her eyes. She plucked her first gray hair months ago—had it already been  months ? Somehow those things caught Anne’s eye once or twice, where before Anne never looked at her that way, like Ann was pretty, and regarded her with the lukewarm distance of a friendly neighbor.

Ann hated how she looked since she was a teen, but the way Anne drank her in now made her love this version of herself so much more. She wanted more than guilt-ridden glances and pretend kisses. She wanted Anne to look at her fully, drink her in, and act on what she wanted. She wanted Anne above her, doing whatever she wished with Ann’s body, ravishing her until she ascended to a new plane of existence. It would never be real, yet a terrible ache throbbed between Ann’s legs, and she had to relieve it.

She wished Anne would burst into the room and crawl on top of her in the bed. Anne would stifle her giggle with a kiss and tangle her fingers in Ann’s hair.

Ann shimmied her sweats to her knees at the thought. She touched her clit with gentle, languid strokes, pretending her fingers were Anne’s teasing hand. Their giggling would fill the air. Ann would crack open an eye and see Anne watching her, awestruck, a gentle smile touching her lips.

Anne’s practiced hands were a forbidden thing. Ann hated to be cruel to Mariana, even in a fantasy, and wondered if her fantasy Anne had broken their engagement over the phone. In a flurry of emotion, Anne wandered up to her, bursting with energy and need for an outlet. 

Ann rolled her hips. Her eyes fluttered shut. Anne’s strong fingertips circled her clit erratically, jagged from both passion and inner turmoil. A gentle groan escaped Ann’s lips as her orgasm rose. Anne gripped her thighs and her hips with strong hands. Anne, brave, tough, resolute, but so lost when it came to her feelings toward Mariana that she needed Ann for comfort. Ann bit her pillow to stifle the whine curling its way up her throat. 

The hot breath moistening her face pressed to the pillow was Anne’s. Sounds she couldn’t control, spilling from her own mouth and muffled by the pillow, then the sheets, then her own naked arm—Anne’s. Anne surrounded her, played her with cruel, deft fingers that knew exactly where to apply pressure, curled a finger inside her, and took her with a strap all at once. Ann couldn’t decide which fantasy she wanted to ride out her orgasm to, and chose them all. 

Ann gasped. Her body hummed with her fierce heartbeat and ragged breaths, too weak to move. The ache between her legs faded, and a new longing painted itself behind her eyes: Anne kissing her sweaty temple while her hand traced the length of her naked body, murmuring sweet nothings— “ _You did so well_ ,” “ _You’re beautiful_ ,” “ _I love you_.”

Ann fell asleep with the though of Anne’s hand s tangled in her hair and her lips  pressed to the back of her neck.

***

Anne didn’t remember when she fell asleep. The growing pit in her stomach and the chill of Ann’s absence in the tent kept her awake at least halfway through the night. When she opened her eyes in the morning, it was as if they’d never shut. She drank three cups of coffee before she could summon a semblance of her usual chipper self, and savored the quiet in the kitchen.

Around 7:30, Elizabeth wandered into the kitchen, her eyes glazed with sleep. She blinked to see Anne clearly, then said good morning with a scratchy voice and warm smile. Anne dashed to prepare a cup of coffee for her.

“Mmm, very thoughtful. Thank you,” she said breathlessly. 

Elizabeth was as talkative as she this morning, and Anne was grateful. They  spoke only to  discuss articles in the paper and labored  together  over the crossword. Trills and songs from the birds outside peppered the morning peace with little bits of light. 

After an hour, Elizabeth said, “Brace yourself.”

No sooner had she spoken than two high-pitched voices descended down the stairwell in the throes of an argument. Anne bit back the curl of her lip in front of their mother. Elizabeth chuckled at her strained expression.

“Not for you?” Elizabeth observed.

Anne bit the inside of her cheek.  The question felt like more of a trap than Elizabeth likely intended. On one hand, she liked the idea of a child, in theory—a little being to mold and shape, someone that might adore her. On the other, the reality was horrifying. A child would require of Anne to sacrifice many of the things she liked—independence, the ability to travel whenever she wanted, silence, and money. And for what? Chaos?  Vomit?  More gray hair? Mary wanted nothing to do with them, and  Anne  hadn’t considered the option in years.

“What does Ann want?” she asked casually.

Elizabeth laughed. “Very wise,” she said. “Ann gets along with mine just fine. She’s the perfect aunt. ”

“But?” Anne pressed.

“How to word it,” Elizabeth said, tapping her chin. “Hmm, she’s not keen on having her own .”

Anne nearly laughed at the warm relief washing through her body. Their relationship was fake, so it didn’t matter. Yet Elizabeth looked up at her with such sincerity that guilt tainted her jovial smirk.

“Yes, I can agree with that sentiment,” Anne said carefully.

“You have a sister,  right? M—hmm--Mary? Mary… A nn?”

“Marian. Yes.”

“ Consider this perk,”  Elizabeth said, smiling devilishly.  She yelled into the family room,  “Kids! G o wake up your aunt .”

Anne grimaced when the children ran screaming up the stairs at her command. The door to Ann’s room squeaked when they threw it open, and the screams turned to shrill laughter. After a minute, Ann descended the stairs with them, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I’m not safe anywhere,”  Ann grumbled, taking the mug Anne offered her. “We’re never having kids.”

“How did you sleep?” Anne said cautiously. 

Bitterness was evident in her tone, because Ann frowned and rested her hand on Anne’s arm, absently smoothing her thumb over her bicep.

“Anne,” Ann began gently. “I’m really not upset. Any frustration I felt yesterday wasn’t at you, I promise.”

Anne smiled without teeth and nodded. She didn’t believe Ann until the girl stood on her toes and kissed her cheek. One chaste peck turned into another, and Anne took her jaw in her hand and guided Anne to her lips, where a slow, gentle kiss teased a hum from Ann’s throat. It was the sweetest sound in the world. Anne didn’t deserve to hear it.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. They pulled apart, a gentle blush touching Ann’s cheeks. 

“It’s good to see how enraptured you are with each other. Some couples never really have that,” Elizabeth said.  “That’s a goo d thing. You’re good for each other.”

Anne flashed a good-natured smile. She brushed the plane of Ann’s cheek with the back of her hand. Ann didn’t know how soft she was. How could she? Telling her so wasn’t Anne’s right as a friend, but it  was her duty to demand that her future lover recognize it. Ann was soft, beautiful, and sweet. She deserved more than a wily rascal who didn’t know her value.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t deserve her,” Anne said. She caught Ann’s shy smile and matched it.

Ann caught the middle of her palm and kissed it. “You do,” she said.

The urge to kiss Ann again overwhelmed her, but Anne  restrained herself. Kissing the girl while possessed with a fierce protectiveness greater than friendship would imbue the gesture with a different kind of meaning. Ann wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but the guilt would churn her stomach. 

Anne wasn’t a cheater. Not anymore. She was finished with that. 

“If you say so,” Anne replied playfully, and pet the tip of her nose in lieu of a kiss.

If it weren’t for her promise to pick Mariana up from the airport , Anne could have stayed another full day. The rest of the house was awake and energy buzzed through the rooms  while Anne helped Elizabeth make a massive breakfast.  They stacked waffles and piled sausages up so each person could take whatever they pleased. Ann couldn’t know what she was doing to Anne’s stomach and sanity when she sucked a drop of syrup from her finger. Her warm, soft mouth took the reins  of Anne’s imagination, and the gentle scrape of her teeth sparked a heat between her legs.

“Too much?” Ann said coyly.

The answer to Ann’s question was either yes or no, but either felt dishonest. No, she loved it, and wanted Ann to do it again. Yes, because it was too far, and she was happily engaged.  B oth of those things were true at once. Anne smiled warmly at her while she struggled to answer.

“I—”

“I’m sorry,” Ann interrupted , reading Anne’s hesitation . She squeezed Anne’s hand with her own.  “I won’t do it again.”

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, but Anne savored the last drops of their pretend relationship. She told a joke that made Elizabeth and Catherine erupt in laughter and even teased a smile from the corner of Harriet’s mouth. As promised, she charmed Ann’s family in the space of a weekend. Ann was safe and happy . T hat was all that mattered. The weekend was a success by all measures, yet a sourness stewed in her gut when they waved goodbye.

Ann chatted excitedly  about her family the entire ride home. Stories of her adventures with Catherine and Harriet when they were all teenagers, stories of she and Elizabeth’s antagonistic relationship before their parents died, and stories of the house itself, which held a mixture of terrible and wonderful memories  for  her. Anne never heard her talk so much, and nodded her head  to show Ann had her full attention. 

When they pulled into the parking lot,  Anne turned to her and grinned. She said,  “Thanks for the weekend.”

Ann matched her grin. “Thank  you . You  were the perfect girlfriend. Mariana better know how lucky she is.”

“Hmm, she’d tell you I’m the perfect girlfriend, but an insufferable fiancée,” Anne joked.

Ann’s smile faded. She didn’t laugh.

“That’s mean,” Ann said flatly. “And not true.”

Anne waved her hand in the air like it might bat away the awkwardness. “Oh, no, she doesn’t mean it, it’s a joke,” she explained, letting out a laugh like a cough.

“Okay,” Ann said, eying her with furrowed brows.

“Is it?” Anne said. She stifled a laugh.

“Hmm,” Ann hummed.

Then Ann leaned over the center console, and Anne met her halfway. Their lips touched in what Anne expected to be a chaste kiss, a teasing thing that sealed the end of their ruse, butthen sank into something deeper, and neither of them pulled away. The moment lengthened as if from a spell, like an otherworldly force pushed them together and suspended them in the moment. Ann tangled her hands in Anne’s hair. She hummed. 

_ This is real _ , Anne thought.  _ Oh, god. This is real . _

Anne didn’t know what to do. Every movement of Ann’s mouth on hers flushed the thoughts from her  mind . She didn’t know what to do. But she loved it. She didn’t know what to do. But it felt  good .  Ann tilted her head, and t he wet smack of their lips broke the illusion .  Ann pulled away, blushing.

“I—um—sorry, that was—” Ann stuttered, jumping out of the car.

“Yeah,” Anne said , instead of explaining herself.

The void Ann’s warmth left sucked in a thousand confusing thoughts that bombarded her brain in tandem.  Each time she reached for a coherent thought, it slipped away. Anne felt as though her brain simply clocked out , and she shadowed her own body. Her lungs breathed. Her heart beat. The mechanical functions of her body took her all the way to the airport, but the drive felt like a fever dream.

*~*

At the airport, Anne greeted her fiancée with a long, deep kiss.  She drank in everything about her, reminding herself why she loved her—the smell of her hair, the heat of her skin,  and the smooth small of her back jumpstarted a hundred different memories.  Mariana giggled, but smacked her arm and pushed her away.

“Not here,” Mariana said firmly. “My family’s still lurking about. They’re—ugh!—they’ve been annoying the entire weekend.”

“How so?”

Mariana groaned, “Oh. All the usual ways. A bit sad you weren’t there to redirect it. I really did miss you, but it would have added an entire new kind of tension. Charles was a  character .” She smiled, as if recalling a memory.

“Was he? That’s very interesting,” Anne said. 

Anne wanted to dig deeper into who the man was, why she was smiling, and whether he decided to invest in their company, but she couldn’t summon the energy.  Ann’s words—the words of a friend who truly cared for her —stewed in the forefront of her mind. Every touch, every loving word, every look from Mariana disproved them. Anne placed her hand, palm open, on the center console. Mary took it. That was proof that Ann was wrong. 

“I love you,” Anne said suddenly. If Mary said it back, Ann was wrong.

“I love you, too,” Mariana replied.

Mariana went on about her weekend and the cruise, but Anne’s mind whirred with ways she could further test Ann’s fears. Holding her hand aloft, Mariana admired her engagement ring. That was proof. Anne smiled at her, and Mary smiled back. That was proof. Mary rested her hand on the inside of Anne thigh as she drove. That was proof.

“Are you all right?” Mariana finally said. “You’re quiet.”

“Headache,” Anne explained briskly.

“Oh, poor baby. How was your weekend? Bored to death from that silly girl? Wasn’t her family a bit bland, growing up? I don’t have hardly any memory of them,” Mariana wondered aloud. Eyeing her coldly, she added,  “You like her, don’t you?”

“What do you mean? Of course I like her,” Anne said.

“Hmm, no, I mean, you’ve gone all soft and affectionate talking about her. And you spent the entire weekend with her, playing her girlfriend, meeting her family. Did you sleep together, too?” Mariana accused bitterly.

“I—what? Mary, I would never—” Anne began, aghast.

“You’ve cheated on me for years, Anne. It’s fine. I basically expect it from you,” Mariana said without a touch of anger or resentment.

Anne’s frustration flared. Whether Mariana was upset or not about her friendship with Ann was one thing, but accusing her of cheating when she didn’t—and actively strived to prove otherwise—was an entirely different circumstance. She hated to fight with Mary, but she couldn’t hold it in.

“Mary, you told me this was okay,” Anne said. “And I didn’t cheat on you, I—”

“Yeah, Anne, I did, but you weren’t supposed to take it at face value! Lord, for such an intelligent person you can be so  _ daft _ ! When a woman tells you it’s ‘fine,’ it’s never ‘fine.’ Obviously,” Mary snapped.

Anne scavenged her memory of that conversation for hints of Mary’s frustration that she missed. She was probably right; Anne shouldn’t have done it. People say “no” with so much more than words—body language, intonation, a long pause. Stupidity and excitement allowed Anne to overlook it. She was a fool for that. If they didn’t want it to happen again, Mary needed to say the words. Anne didn’t trust herself otherwise.

“You need to tell me that, Mary, with words. We’re adults. You know me, I can handle that,” Anne said.

“Could you?” Mary said. “Really? Because I would never have done that to you, Anne. Charles flirted with me, my family was egging me on to it, and I  still  chose you. But you feel sad about one little event and all the sudden it’s all over, our commitment means nothing, and I’m left out to dry. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Mariana’s words transported Anne into a Twilight Zone dimension where nothing made sense. Anne never said anything about commitment, about anything being “all over,” and she never meant to hurt her this way. Arguing about the truth was useless. They proved that time and time again, and the original conflict was always buried, waiting for them to excavate it again. Anne couldn’t let that happen.

“Mary, I never meant to make you feel that way, and I’m sorry I did. Ann is my friend, truly. And I would never prioritize anyone else over you,” Anne murmured, reaching out to her.

Mariana snatched her hand back. “No. You’re clearly obsessed with her. She used to be your neighbor, so what? That doesn’t mean you have to help her move in, talk to her every day, spend the weekend with her and her family—you’re obsessed, Anne. Like a little puppy. That’s just how you get. I know you.”

It was true that Anne had affection for  sweet, soft, kind Ann. It was also true that she’d made a conscious effort to dismiss those feelings and not act on them until they passed. Ann was a lovely girl who needed a friend more than anything. Maybe even two. Anne bit her lips, her brain whirring for a solution to the problem.

“Let’s have her over, Mary. She isn’t a threat to you, truly. She’s very sweet. She’ll charm you straight away,” Anne promised, conjuring a smile even through her fierce anxiety.

“Fine,” Mariana said. Anne waited for her to continue, but instead her fiancée stared blankly ahead.

“Is it?” Anne asked . 

Mary’s claim about “fine”  meaning “not fine, obviously,” stuck in her head. What was she supposed to do ? “Fine” meant it wasn’t fine, right?

They left the car, and Mariana slammed the car door shut. Anne flinched . S he almost  scolded Mary for treating her car—her expensive car—so poorly. But that was secondary to the current misunderstanding between them. Mariana didn’t answer her until they closed the apartment door behind them.

“No, no, really. It’s fine,” Mariana repeated coldly.  “Why wouldn’t I want to have the woman who kissed my fiancée all weekend over? We could all be the happiest of friends, if I could only get over myself.”

The meaning of every word that travelled from Anne’s brain to her mouth, through the air, and into Mariana’s mind somehow became muddled along the way. Anne wanted to make things better, not worse. If only she could speak properly. She needed to help Mariana understand, but didn’t know how. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs and eyelids and gripped her chest.

Anne said,  “No, I just—I need a minute, Mary. I’m—I’m upset, I’m confused—”

Mariana followed her to the bedroom, where she began shuffling through her pajamas. 

“What’s there to be confused about?” Mary prodded. “I feel like I’m being very clear.”

Anne leaned against the doorframe. She said,  “My brain is just spinning. I feel sick. We’ll talk about this, I promise. Tomorrow morning. I need to think. To sleep. I don’t want to be hurtful,” Anne said, shaking her head.

“Fine,” Mariana said, and slammed their bedroom door shut.

Bewildered, but too tired to fight, Anne lay down on the couch. She pulled the thin, scratchy blanket over her legs, and fell asleep.


	13. Celestial Beings

When Ann received a text from Anne asking her to join them for dinner that night, Ann almost refused. She’d messed up last week. Badly. Kissing Anne in a real, unforgivable way in the parking lot right after a weekend of doing her best to hide her affection undid all the respect she’d managed to gain from Anne. The awkwardness of that dinner might simply be too much to bear.

On top of it all, Elizabeth wanted to meet her for breakfast. Ann tossed her phone after she read the text without replying to either message. If a god existed, and they truly loved her, they would halt the spin of the earth to give her a moment to catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the world still turned. Shame.

Defeated, Ann replied to both women with a simple _Sounds good!_ , adding an emoji with an earnest smile and little hearts surrounding it to mask any doubt that managed to seep through. Elizabeth sent the address of the restaurant back almost immediately. 

Ann met her sister at a little diner just around the corner from her flat. On the way, Anne replied to Ann with a large yellow thumbs-up. The cold, brisk message sent a chill through her and her brain whirred with the worst possibilities. Was Ann, trapped between Anne and Mariana at that large, mahogany dinner table, to be chastised by the both of them for going too far? If Anne forgave her, surely she would have softened her reply with a longer message?

 _She’s older,_ Ann reminded herself, desperate to calm herself before she pushed open the restaurant door. _She probably messages like that no matter what. A thumbs-up, ‘K,’ no emojis—that’s how she talks to everyone all the time. Right? She doesn’t hate you, suddenly._

Ann took a breath and closed the conversation. She would deal with that later. 

The diner bustled with bodies and noise. Servers wove between tables and plodding patrons with a grace Ann forever lacked; she stepped on someone’s toes, knocked a jacket to the floor, and very nearly caused a line of servers to fall like dominoes as she made her way to Elizabeth. She squeaked hurried apologies even as she wreaked devastation upon the restaurant.

As if the universe couldn’t humiliate her enough, Ann stumbled into a face she recognized. Mariana wrinkled her nose, shoving Ann away before she realized who she was.

“Oh. Sorry,” Mariana said, not sorry at all. “Anne didn’t say anything about you joining us for breakfast.”

“Oh, no, I—I’m meeting my sister here,” Ann stammered. “I—”

“Good. Perhaps consider watching your feet in future,” she said sweetly. 

Ann scowled. Perhaps that was Mariana’s idea of a joke, but every word the woman said felt insincere. Ann watched her walk to their table on a far end of the restaurant, down the line from where Elizabeth waved her over. Anxiety closed around her heart and lungs like a trembling fist.

“No Anne?” Elizabeth said, greeting her with a hug.

“Hmm?” Ann hummed, though she only half heard. Her heart raced in her chest and blood pounded in her ears while her mind spun, trying to figure out what to do. “Oh, uh—no. Um, she has work, I think.”

Lord. If Elizabeth turned around and peered through the crowd, she would see Anne behind her, looking longingly at another woman. Not another woman—her fiancée. Elizabeth would see her charming swagger channeled toward a more gorgeous and lovely woman than Ann and think Anne was a cheater—and worse, that Ann was “the other woman” (which she wasn’t—was she?), and Ann would never hear the end of it. 

“That’s a shame. I _really_ like her,” Elizabeth said, her smile growing. “We didn’t scare her away, did we? Cath, me, and the kids, all at once, and lord knows George can make a mess of anything—”

“No, she—she seemed to like you. She was so comfortable. No matter where we are or what’s going on, she’s always like that,” Ann said. 

Ann stared at the menu without reading it. Even thinking about Anne triggered a queasy mixture of warmth and anxiety in her stomach. She knew she should tell Elizabeth the truth, but she just couldn’t. Not when her sister finally thought she was happy. Starting off their breakfast talking about Anne was loads more pleasant than talking about her week with pinpoint accuracy and navigating around Elizabeth’s concerns about her health.

“Anne!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“What!” Ann blurted, bristling before she realized Elizabeth was looking past her.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Elizabeth said, standing and ignoring Ann entirely. 

Ann turned just in time to watch Anne’s bewildered expression transform to a warm grin. She embraced Elizabeth, then rose an eyebrow at Ann over her shoulder.

 _I’m sorry!_ Ann mouthed.

“I can only stay for a few minutes, I’m afraid. I’ve a tenant who needs a sink fixed, and my handyman is out,” Anne said. “But I thought I should pop by and say hello.”

“I’m so glad you came! At least have a bit of breakfast with us—Ann, are you ready to order?”

Their waiter had appeared suddenly, as if pulled from the ether. Ann scooted over to give Anne room to sit while she fumbled with the menu. Any hope she had to be able to read was stifled by Anne’s bare and well-muscled arm, which stretched to rest on the booth behind her. Ann was drawn to her as if their bodies were magnets; all of her focus had to be channeled into keeping her distance.

“Oh, um—” Ann panicked. She’d hardly had time to browse the menu, and recited her usual embarrassing order. “Um, a cup of coffee, please. I’ll take the French toast with—sorry, could I add blueberry syrup, bacon, and a bowl of fruit? And could I—sorry, just one more thing—could I hold the melon, too, please? Oh! And wheat toast with, um, jam.”

“No melon?” the waiter clarified.

“No melon,” Ann confirmed shyly.

Anne smirked. Ann knew what she was going to say before Anne said it, and braced herself.

“You—”

“Don’t,” Ann interrupted.

“’Don’t’ what? I was only going to say, between the two of us, we’ll order the full menu. What a spectacular match, you and me. We’re made for each other,” Anne said, her eyes twinkling.

Did Anne forget about their kiss? The awful, horrible, terrible thing Ann did? Had she imagined it? Ann didn’t deserve her kindness, and she especially didn’t deserve Anne’s willingness to play off an impromptu façade in front of her sister with Mariana a few tables and a thin pane of frosted glass away. Ann blushed.

“You’re too kind to me,” Ann murmured.

“I simply love you too much for the adoration I have for you to go unsaid,” Anne said.

Oh, if that wasn’t a mood. Though she couldn’t know it, Anne’s words struck a chord with her that sent her spiraling while her body stiffened. Is that why they clung to this lie, long past its expiration date, so Ann could profess her love instead of stuffing it into her heart to fester? She was a coward. 

Anne sensed her change in demeanor and held her hand gently. Her touch was intimate but not romantic, a perfect balance. Ann was never good at balance. Not in her work, her emotions, or her own two feet. While she and Elizabeth chatted away, Anne gripped her shoulder like she was an anchor tethering Ann to Earth. It was so natural. Why did Ann torture herself this way?

“Is that—” 

Elizabeth choked on whatever she was going to say next. She took Anne’s left hand and examined something on it before Ann realized what was happening. She saw the turning gears in her head in Elizabeth’s expression, and heard them in the sputtering sounds she made while she tried to gather words. Ann met Anne’s eyes. Instead of correcting Elizabeth or guiding her to any sensible conclusion, they waited. Ann didn’t know what was appropriate—the truth or the lie. Maybe Anne felt the same.

This was a perfect reason to be done with it, Ann supposed. Her logical brain fought her anxiety brain for control over her body. The myriad of possibilities churned her stomach and stole the logical thoughts from her head as she conjured them. A perfect reason to be done with this silly pretend relationship—but at what cost? Elizabeth would never trust her again. How much was real and how much was fake? Ann could barely confront that question in the safety of her own head, and the thought of blubbering her half-baked answers in the middle of a busy restaurant—especially in Anne’s presence—horrified her. 

“When did this happen?” Elizabeth demanded. “Why haven’t I heard about this, Ann?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I was a fool to wear mine—I’m just so excited. It happened last Saturday. Ann’s ring is at the jeweler’s getting fitted,” Anne explained. “We wanted to wait to show everyone when the ring is in its full glory—fitted on the most beautiful hand in the world.”

Ann blushed. She was _so good_ at that. Saying the perfect romantic thing for the moment. Charming Ann over and over again, until she couldn’t help but fall in love with her. Ann was a fool, fully and completely desperate, and that realization soured the touch that usually set butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Anne pulled away from her rather quickly. Perhaps she sensed the change in Ann’s gut. That something was wrong. That the bad thoughts Anne’s presence once wicked away had infested this, too. She kissed Ann’s forehead gently. A sweet, solemn farewell. Maybe in more ways than one.

“Goodbye. I’ll see you at dinner, my love,” Anne said. 

Oh, yeah. She’d committed to that. What a bloody fucking fool. Their waiter brought their food while Ann digested what had happened. She couldn’t meet Elizabeth’s eye. The moment couldn’t get any worse. Until it did.

Mariana led her fiancée through the tables, veering sharply to pass right in from of Ann and Elizabeth. They held hands. Anne averted her eyes, but Elizabeth watched them at the register, where they kissed. On the mouth, to Ann’s chagrin, and tenderly, obviously romantic. Despite the churning in Ann’s stomach, it wasn’t an evil thing, it was the _opposite_. Mariana’s right. Anne was her fiancée, not Ann’s, and their pretend relationship was an act of kindness. An act of pity.

“Did Anne just…kiss her?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, um, yes. Her friend is—Mariana is—she’s French,” Ann explained wildly.

The single most cowardly moment of her life came and passed in the span of a decade long sentence, and Ann knew she would never forget it. 

Elizabeth blinked, but, alarmingly, accepted her explanation. 

“That’s sweet of her. So, Ann, how did she propose? She seems very traditional,” Elizabeth mused.

The idea of Anne proposing to her lit a fire in her chest that reddened her cheeks and melted her heart.

“Um, she—she took me out for a picnic,” Ann stammered. Her eyes flickered around the room for ideas. Anne was traditional, but romantic, and would have made an unforgettable gesture. Ann was terrible at coming up with them. “Er, she, um—” Her eyes caught an unfinished bun sitting torn up on an abandoned plate at the table beside them. “—b-baked it in some bread. The ring, I mean. I, um, opened it and—and there it was,” she finished lamely.

“She…baked the ring in bread?” Elizabeth repeated, furrowing her brow.

Lord, why did she have to say it back out loud? Elizabeth’s confusion reminded Ann that every word blubbering from her stupid mouth was increasingly daft. Anne was perfect in every way, and the lie she effortlessly continued had unraveled at Ann’s own incapable hands. Ann sighed, the breath flushing through her entire body, and sank until her cheek pressed against the syrup-encrusted table.

Elizabeth prodded, “Is everything all right between you? Isn’t this proposal…a good thing?”

“Anne and I are just friends,” Ann said. The table muffled her weak admission. She hoped Elizabeth understood her—she couldn’t say it twice.

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth said. 

Ann groaned. Her long, pathetic whine stretched into silence. She couldn’t say it again. She wouldn’t.

“So you and Anne…are not engaged?”

“No.”

“Are you romantically involved?”

“No.”

“Were you, during our camping trip?”

“No.”

Elizabeth set down her fork and sighed. Ann winced at the gentle clatter.

She said, “Ann, I know you’re upset, but I need a little help here. What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of George and his mum setting me up with someone random _again_ —especially after the last one,” Ann mumbled. “And Anne thought—it was all her idea—Anne thought if she, you know, then that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. That maybe they would stop. Please don’t tell them.”

Ann waited. She imagined her sister’s expression—confused? Angry? Or even worse, disappointed? Closing one eye as if to shield herself from the truth, Ann peeked up at her.

A small, deep line cut between Elizabeth’s eyebrows. She met Ann’s eye, but said nothing.

“You’re furious with me,” Ann observed. It was more of a question than a statement.

“Well, I—yes, obviously I’m upset! I thought you’d, I don’t know, that you were finally happy. That you found someone to take care of you. You know how I worry about you, after—”

No. Ann could _not_ handle thinking about that now.

“No,” she said, cutting her sister off. “I know.”

Elizabeth’s mouth formed a thin line, but her tone softened. She said, “And I feel—I know this is a bit ridiculous, considering everything else—but I feel a bit like a fool. You can tell me these things. You don’t have to create an elaborate farce. I’m on your team. We can figure things out together.”

“You have so much on your plate already. I didn’t want to trouble you,” Ann said.

“Oh, Ann, you don’t have to worry about troubling me,” she said. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why we moved closer to you. To support you. I won’t tell them, but can you promise to be more open with me?” 

In these moments, Elizabeth’s tone evoked their mother. She felt small, like a child getting caught in a lie. The moment reminded her of school, when her mom walked in on her and her first girlfriend kissing in the dark. She was vulnerable, her body screaming in high alert. Her hands trembled with the instinct to run.

“Yes,” Ann snapped. “Sorry, sorry, I—I want to be done with this conversation. Can we just eat, please?”

“Um, sure,” Elizabeth said, clearly hurt. “Is there anything else you want to share with me?”

“What do you mean?” Ann said coldly.

Elizabeth bit her lips. “I just—well, I suppose, the whole thing was just very convincing. Both of you were,” she murmured. “You’ve never been a fantastic liar. And Anne’s charming, she can make anyone believe anything, I’m sure, but her tenderness for you—well. This utterly blindsided me. Is there not something else going on?”

“No,” Ann said flatly.

“Ann, I’ve _just_ asked you to be honest with me,” Elizabeth sighed.

“I am,” Ann said through her teeth. “I—hang on, Anne’s just texted me, I’m sorry.” 

She fumbled with her phone, cursing her clumsy, shaking hands. Her heart sank as she read: _Dinner is cancelled. Mary is being herself again. We’ll talk later._

Ann stood.

“I have to go,” she sputtered, her voice shaking more than her hands. “I can’t do this right now. I don’t mean to lie to you. I—I don’t even know what I’m thinking. I just need tonight. I—I’m sorry.”

Ann left without waiting for her to respond, throwing enough cash on the table to cover both of their meals. 

***

Mary slammed the bedroom door in her face, but Anne couldn’t retreat to the living room couch with so much on her mind. The same argument reared its head over and over again like an amorphous hydra—every time Anne thought they solved it, it sprouted two heads for every one cut off. She needed to breathe, to vent, to piece together her thoughts into something logical. She needed a friend.

Anne knocked on Ann’s door. When Ann answered the door, Anne’s face cracked with a forced, if slightly inebriated, smile. The girl’s eyes immediately wavered to the bottle of wine Anne cradled in one arm.

“Is everything all right?” Ann whispered.

“I thought we might celebrate our proposal,” Anne joked halfheartedly. She gestured with the wine bottle, waiting for the girl’s typical cheerful grin to brighten the room. 

Ann smiled, but the warmth and tenderness in the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they were red, puffy, and hooded, as though she’d been crying and wore herself out into a long, fitful nap.

“What’s happened?” Anne said. The sourness from her fight with Mariana fled as protectiveness for the girl took over.

Ann sniffed, “Nothing. I mean, it’s all off. We don’t have t-to p-pretend anymore. I told Elizabeth. I was s-s-stupid, I’m sorry.”

“Is that all? There’s nothing to be sorry about, darling,” Anne said gently. She sat next to Ann on the couch, plucking a few tissues and patted Ann’s cheeks dry.

“I d-don’t know why I’m crying,” Ann laughed weakly. “When you s-said—I don’t know. I feel I’ve let you down somehow.”

Ann loved her. Their façade began as a silly thing, something funny—not that dating Ann was akin to a joke, but something lighthearted—and manifested into something else. Poison. Poison in Mariana and her’s relationship, feelings she drank that sickened them beyond repair. Playing a relationship without conflict, without the _tension_ that came from decades of knowing someone intimately, was nice. Freeing. It brought to the forefront the sacrifices she made to be with her soulmate.

Yet, ascribing “poison” to her feelings for Ann felt dishonest. Ann was pure and sweet. Ann held the warmth and brightness of the sun itself within her. Not falling in love with her was impossible. Ann was a celestial being, pulling Anne into her orbit, and she was helpless to something as natural as gravity.

“I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?”

“No,” Ann said immediately. Anne doubted it was true.

“I have,” Anne murmured. “I gave you tenderness without the bits that really matter. I gave you affection that breached the boundaries of friendship. You confronted me, and I left you lost. I’m sorry.”

Ann hugged herself tightly, her knuckles white. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she finally said. “I’m at fault, too.”

Anne didn’t deserve her sweetness. Even at her most vulnerable, Ann granted her something few ever had: honesty with kindness and contemplation. She grinned.

“Will you let me make it up to you? We can start over tonight, if you want,” Anne said. She jiggled the wine again, as if it were a tempting carrot and the pair of them starving rabbits.

Ann took it from her. She flashed a small smile. “All right,” she said. “But only because you need this more than I do.”

Oh. So she heard all of it.

Anne whispered, “Are the walls very thin?”

“Very,” Ann said knowingly.

“I’m glad I don’t have to go through the awkward explanation that this isn’t all about you, then,” Anne said. 

The sentence originated in her head as a joke, but lost the punchline somewhere in her buzzed stupor. It _wasn’t_ about Ann. It was the usual conversation about Mary’s family, and now the new, debilitating set of heads on the topic: Charles, and the Balcombes’ apparent affection for him. If only someone thought to tell him he was intruding on someone else.

Anne washed back the vomit creeping up her throat with a large gulp of wine.

“We can talk about it, if you want,” Ann suggested. Anne winced, and she added, “Or we don’t have to! I, um, I was going to watch a movie, if you want to do that…?”

Anne nodded gratefully.

“Perfect!” Ann said, smiling brightly for the first time that night. “It’s, um, a stupid movie, just something a found that was streaming, I—I haven’t seen it in a while, it’s probably not as good as I remembered—”

“Anything is fine after the night I’ve had, honestly,” Anne assured her.

Anne tried to focus on the movie, but she watched it without processing anything that happened. She couldn’t summon the names of the main characters at gunpoint. All her brain knew was the light tickle of Ann’s flyaway hair under her chin, and the radiating warmth from her tiny body against Anne’s side. Her arm froze on the back of the couch like it was nailed here, a cramp forming from the tension.

After a few minutes, it became too painful, and she cautiously moved her arm lower on the cushion, struggling to avoid brushing Ann’s back. She slid her fingers in the seat of the couch, then relaxed. Another minute passed before Ann adjusted and leaned back, pressing the small of her back firmly against Anne’s trapped hand.

A sliver of creamy skin peeked through from underneath the hem of Ann’s sweatshirt. Anne stiffened from the contact.

“Perfect,” Ann whispered. “I’ve got a little itch there, could you…?”

Anne obeyed, gently scratching the small of Ann’s impossibly soft back. Ann hummed. The sound melted Anne’s heart. She stared at the television screen with more effort than she’d ever mustered for anything in her life, but nearly broke when Ann rested her head on her shoulder. It took more bravery than she cared to admit to trace gentle circles on Ann’s back with the pad of her finger, teasing the hem of her waistband with a fingertip every now and again. So soft. Every pass shook Anne with the realization of what she was doing, but she craved more. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

Anne might have thought the girl entirely impenetrable if not for the deep breaths she took, moving her shoulders with every exhale. The air hummed between them. Ann’s warmth nearly burned her with the ache of needing her mouth on every inch of her skin.

Anne snapped to look at Ann, and the girl mirrored her. Their lips brushed. Anne closed her eyes, sank into the wet of Ann’s mouth, and pressed her close, the whole of her hand splayed across her bare back.

They’d kissed before. Countless times in one weekend. They’d kissed for pretend, they’d kissed for real, but it never felt like this. This was just for them. This wasn’t stolen, or guesswork, or anything else but hunger. Ann hummed into her mouth. The vibration of the sound was the most ethereal thing she’d ever felt. Anne’s other hand tangled in Ann’s hair, pulling the strands loose from her ponytail, and tugged until another whine left her lips.

Their bodies and minds melded together. Ann rolled on her back at the mere suggestion of Anne’s hand, her arms wrapped around Anne’s wide shoulders, holding her close. Anne stilled her mouth to let Ann taste her, memorizing the sensation of their lips sucking, nipping, and pressing together.

Knowing this was a moment she could not take back, an action she could never undo, Anne slipped beneath the hem of Ann’s sweats. Her fingertips gently combed Ann’s bush, which was of course soft and lovely and perfectly trimmed, like everything else about her. And— _oh_ —

“ _Fuck_ ,” they both hissed at once.

Ann was soaked through, her thighs sticky with arousal. Anne wrenched the girl’s sweats to her knees, and teased her for a moment. They were so close. She could already smell Ann on her tongue. The command touched Ann’s lips, and before it was out, Anne slipped two fingers inside her.

“ _Anne_ ,” she whined. 

Poor girl. She was so overcome by sensation, by emotion, by want, she sobbed with the effort to express it in a sound. Ann trembled beneath her, gripping her shoulders, clawing desperately for purchase, but unable to grasp a thing. Telltale fluttering brought a smile to Anne’s lips. She was already so close.

“I’m close,” Ann whispered, her hot breath wetting Anne’s ear.

“I know,” Anne cooed, smirking. 

She pushed a third finger inside the girl just to see how over the edge they could go. Ann gasped, then choked off as she came, stiffening and then shuddering beneath her. Anne kissed her temple, where a single bead of sweat trailed her hairline. Ann smiled shyly, and Anne matched her, peppering kisses on her cheeks until she laughed.

“I love you,” Ann said breathlessly. She fingered the buckle of Anne’s belt and added, “Mmm, can I do anything for you?”

Anne bit her lip. “Mhmm. Please.”

Anne balanced on one hand, her other fumbling over her own belt. Ann’s delicate hands pushed at the fabric around her hips; Anne fell onto her back, kicking her legs as Ann pulled her jeans off. Ann stood, tossing them behind her, and raised an eyebrow. 

Crimson creeped up Anne’s cheeks. Here, in her wet boxers, Anne was just as vulnerable as if she’d been completely naked; she looked down—fucking grey fabric. There was no denying how wet she was now.

“Wow,” Ann breathed. Anne was caught between laughing and crying. “You’re—”

“Ann,” she managed, barely more than a breath. 

Eyes wide, Ann sank to her knees before her. Anne drew in a ragged breath and lifted her hips as the girl slid her ruined boxers down her legs. Surely she didn’t mean to—when was the last time anyone had?—but then she _was_. Ann kissed the insides of her knees, first the left, then the right. She ran her hands up Anne’s thighs to the bend of her hips. She smiled, trailing her bottom lip over Anne’s skin.

“I’ve been wanting to do this—” Ann started, then shook her head and looked away. “God, since—oh, forever, I guess.”

Anne smirked; she couldn’t help it. She leaned forward, cupped that ethereal face in her hands, and kissed her. Sloppy. They giggled. Anne couldn’t believe how _warm_ she felt. Hot, of course, but warm, too. Ann’s hair was silk between her fingers; her tongue still tasting of the wine they’d drunk. By the time they parted, Anne was on fire. She hated to beg, but—

“Ann, I—”

It was out of her mouth before she even realized. Begging. Actual, proper begging. Anne tilted her head back against the couch, her face reddening. She was going to pay for this, wasn’t she? Begging was so unseemingly. Too demanding, she chastised herself. Always, always too demanding.

Then she was there. Ann dragged her tongue experimentally along Anne’s clit. A choked gasp tore from Anne’s throat; she clutched the back of Ann’s head. Small hands urged her hips forward, and she complied. Anything, she’d do anything to get more of whatever Ann was doing right now. How long had it been since she’d—

“ _Fuck_ ,” she groaned as Ann’s lips enfolded her clit.

Too long, that was for sure.

If Anne had thought this girl inexperienced, she was sorely mistaken. Ann unraveled her—lips, tongue, teeth; her hands caressing and squeezing in time with her soft, content hums. They vibrated against her clit, these sounds, and they underscored the low, embarrassing groans Anne couldn’t control. She couldn’t believe how close she was, how shaky her legs already were, how tightly her fingers curled in blonde hair.

“I’m close,” she warned. Her voice sounded thin and desperate and unfamiliar. “I—”

Suddenly, Anne felt cool air brush across her center. She looked down, eyes wild. Ann smiled shyly, her hands running possessively over Anne’s thighs. No longer able to feel shame, Anne rolled her hips upward in silent, embarrassing supplication. Ann giggled and kissed the top of her thigh.

“God, you taste good.”

Anne wasn’t sure if it was Ann’s words or the movement of her tongue over Anne’s clit, but either way, she was gone. Sharp, white-hot pleasure raced up her spine and through every cell in her body. Through her own moans and gasps, proud little hums came from the incredible being there on the carpet. Anne shuddered, cursed, clutched that blonde hair for dear life. 

“I—fuck, Ann,” she managed at last. 

She looked up at Anne, her lips swollen and her eyes flashing with excitement. Anne took that proud face in her hands and kissed her—hard, desperate, grateful. She eased Ann up into her lap. Their lips met for an eternity, like they’d been glued together. Finally, Ann broke away, kissed her once more, then buried her face in the crook of Anne’s neck.

“It’s selfish of me to love you this much, isn’t it?” Ann whispered.

Anne thought about taking Ann’s chin in her hands, and summoning the perfect words from the ether for the moment. Something that would quell her fears. Something that might turn uncertainty into certainty. Anne needed those things, too, but guilt wormed its way into the warmth of the moment. She couldn’t conjure them. She didn’t know what to say.

Instead, Anne kissed her gently. “Shh,” she said, quieting her. “Tonight is just for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. <3


	14. Coward

The morning after was always a walk of shame, but this one felt different. A rush of affection washed through Anne when she stared at Ann, still fast asleep. Sunlight hit the girl’s face in soft yellow triangles, cutting her into bits: closed eyes with long eyelashes, a freckled cheek, soft pink lips, and a neck bruised by kisses all came together to form the sweetest, kindest girl in the universe. Anne wanted to do everything in her power to protect her from harm.

Anne sucked in a breath. The morning sun and chirping birds were like an enchantment, masking the cold reality of the morning in comfortable warmth. She couldn’t protect Ann from anything —it was she who entangled the girl in Mariana and her mess. When everything fell apart, it was Ann who would get hurt. Damn everything.

Anne kissed her cheek. A gentle peck on her warm skin. A preemptive apology for the pain she caused. She breathed in and caught the sweet scent of her hair. It occurred to Anne that she could simply stay. Start a life with this kind, gentle girl who loved her, and who  _ trusted _ her, even though Anne didn’t deserve it. She could call Mariana and tell her it’s off, just as she did years ago when they thought they were finished for good, and be done with it. Again. Hopefully.

But felt strange to leave one door wide open, only to open another. Unnatural. Neglecting decades of history between them—Mariana and her—wouldn’t be leaving anything behind. It would all stick with her, unless she did it right.

Anne’s heart thrummed in her chest. She didn’t know if she could do it at all. They’d broken things off before, but the finality of it never stuck—one of them always came back to the other. They called it being “soulmates,” but Anne’s gut churned from the word; “soulmates” implied completion and inevitability, but Mariana always seemed to take, leaving her somehow emptier every time. Going back to her felt like mining the glimmer of her soul from her very bones. Until it didn’t. And then it didn’t, until it did. She couldn’t believe that was what loving your soulmate was like—not now, not here, next to Ann, who was as radiant as the sun.

Ann blinked awake, peering up at her with sleepy, squinty eyes. She grinned at Anne, a little coy, but brimming with joy.

“Morning,” she said brightly.

Anne chuckled. “Good morning. You’re very pretty when you sleep, you know. I was just about to wake you, but it felt cruel.”

“Mmm. I’m surprised you’re still here. I wondered if you’d be gone when I woke up,” Ann said.

“I’d never be so cruel to you. But I do need to say goodbye, for now. I have things to do,” Anne said, grimacing. 

“Oh, I wish you would stay. But I understand,” Ann said softly. 

She took Anne’s hand in her own soft ones, stroking the back of Anne’s knuckles with a thumb. The small gesture weighed down Anne’s heart like a lead sinker; it was caring, sweet, so tiny Ann herself likely missed the weight of it, but Anne craved this kind of bemused affection. She didn’t even have to ask for it from Ann. 

“Are you all right? You’ve gone very still,” Ann murmured.

Anne blinked. She’d frozen in the moment, holding her breath, as if that would make Ann less likely to stop. Ann squeezed her hand. Anne looked down at their entwined fingers, her lip trembling.

“I just don’t want this moment to end,” Anne explained. 

Ann hummed happily. “I don’t either.”

Anne kissed her goodbye. Maybe she shouldn’t have; it wasn’t a promise, or an explanation. But it felt right. Ann’s breath brushed her top lip, a little sigh that turned into a breathy giggle. Maybe it was their last kiss. Maybe it wasn’t—Anne didn’t know. She wasn’t sure of anything, anymore, and the coming confrontation with Mariana twisted her stomach into knots.

She pulled away. Ann looked up at her again with that radiant smile.

“Will you come back?”

“I’ll try,” she replied. 

That was as close to a promise as she could get.

Anne unlocked the door to the flat and slipped in as quietly as she could. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief; the flat was still and quiet. Mary was asleep. 

Instead of giving in to her anxiety and pacing around the living room until her fiancee woke up, Anne began her morning as usual. For breakfast, she made a bowl of oatmeal with a spoonful of brown sugar, then set the kettle while she read the morning paper. Mary emerged from their bedroom just as the tea was ready.

“Morning,” Anne said. 

She poured her cream and stirred. The light clinking seemed to echo round the room while Mary glared at her. Mariana’s hair was mussed on one side, and a leg of her sweatpants hiked up mid calf; she’d awakened only moments before. Tenderness gripped her, then guilt. Anne took a small sip of tea.

She winced. Too hot.

“You woke me up with that racket. You could be more quiet, in future,” Mary said stiffly. 

When Mariana woke up in the mood to fight, it could never wait until after breakfast. They always had to start right away. Might as well crack on with it, Anne supposed. 

“I do this every morning,” Anne reminded her. “What was so loud this time?”

“Yes, but this early you’re always in bed with me,” Mary said, frowning. She almost looked sad. “I came out last night to get you, because I missed you, and I was going to apologize, and you were gone. Where were you?” she demanded.

Anne stared straight forward and took another sip of tea. Even with a second splash of milk, it was too hot; it burned her tongue, a sensation that would linger for the rest of the day. 

“You were with  _ her _ , weren’t you? Do you think I’m stupid, or deaf?” Mary accused.

Lying was pointless, and undeserved. She loved Mariana enough to tell her the truth.

“Yes, I was with Ann,” Anne said. “I —what you think happened, happened.”

Mary buried her face in her hands. For a moment, Anne wondered if she was crying —that would have been a first. She didn’t know whether she wanted her to cry or not; Anne knew that by cheating, she hurt Mariana, but she didn’t try to, and not this much—on the other hand, it would be nice to be missed, to feel loved enough to be mourned. 

Instead, Mariana grit her teeth and growled, “Why? What have I done now? Is it because I haven’t told our family about our engagement? Is it this business with Charles? You can’t keep doing this whenever we fight. Come on, Anne, it’s not — it isn’t  _ us. _ ”

“Isn’t it? On again, off again — even your family will vouch for that. I thought we were taking it seriously with our engagement, but you act like it never happened. Of course I’m upset about that. If we can’t take that seriously, why are we still together?”

Anne bit back the venom in her voice. She regretted that last bit —throwing their relationship into question was too harsh. Half of her needed Mary to comfort her. The other half knew she needed more, or this treacherous cycle would continue, but, well—Anne was just so tired. She wanted to be loved. She wanted comfort. She wanted this to be done and the fighting to be over. Why did she always have to be the one on her knees, begging?

When Mary fell to her knees, Anne was surprised. Her fiancee clutched her arm, saying, “I’m with you because  _ I love you _ , Anne. Do you think real, honest love is supposed to be easy?”

Before Ann, Anne would have answered, “No.” Love had never been easy for her; Anne would have said love is a series of trials — tests, like enduring the hardship of forming a connection with another human being, and all the struggle that entailed. Loving Ann wasn’t like that, though —communicating with her, trusting her, choosing to love her all came easily.

However, Mariana knew everything about her. She knew Anne’s vulnerabilities, her fears, and her past, yet when they came to misunderstandings or disagreements, she chose cruelty instead of kindness, and masked her lashing out as “honesty,” even when she knew her words cut Anne’s heart.

Anne always thought of herself as hopelessly romantic. She once believed that wishing for love to be different—to be easy, to be kind, to be comfortable and full—was an impossible fantasy, but it wasn’t. It was real, and as easy to find as demanding it for herself.

“I — ”

“Of course you don’t. If you did, you would have left me already, for one of the girls before. One of the girls who told you you’re handsome and who love to listen to you blather on about whatever you’re interested in that week. But you’re still here. We both are. That’s what makes us strong, and why we work so well together.”

“Only because I wish  _ you _ would tell me how you like the way I look. Only because I wish  _ you _ would have excitement about the things I’m interested in. I’m here because—because, I don’t know. I keep hoping you’ll listen. That you’ll get serious about us, and we can finally move on from this mess. And now I think—well, that it’ll never happen. I can’t keep waiting around for things to be convenient for you, Mary.”

Mary took her hands and held them tightly. She said, “I will, Anne. I will.”

“You’ve said that before,” Anne choked. Lord, she was nearly on the edge of tears. “And you haven’t.”

Few knew Anne like Mariana. They knew each other since they were little girls—every thought, every dream—just as well as they knew themselves. Anne laid herself bare before Mary. Bare to her very bones, as vulnerable as one person could be to another. Mary could shatter her heart with a word, and she knew it.

“Charles asked me to marry him yesterday, you know,” Mary said. The edge in her voice made it sound like a threat. Anne shook the thought out of her head; she shouldn’t assume. “I told him — ”

“—that you are already engaged,” Anne finished for her. 

“ — that I would think about it. But I’m going to say no, obviously!”

“This is what I mean, Mary. This is what I’ve been saying, and why I left last night. Just tell them. Just tell them, and demand that they take it seriously, and prove to me that our love can weather that storm.”

“You know I can’t. They’ve already threatened to disown me if we do. I can’t live without money, Anne, and you can’t support me on your own,” she said. 

Each word cut Anne deeper than the last.

“Then what are we doing? Why are you holding on?”

“Haven’t I said it enough? Because I love you. But your dream is a fantasy. Maybe we can be together the way you want in a different universe. Maybe in another lifetime.”

Mariana took her in an awkward embrace. Anne pushed her away.

“This isn’t about circumstance, Mary. People risk more every day for less. You’re a coward. You’d be a coward in every universe.”

“Anne, don’t. We’re star-crossed lovers, aren’t we? Where’s your sense of romance?”

Anne laughed without humor. “Star-crossed? That’s for lovers who try to rip their right to love one another from the fabric of the universe. Lovers who put their relationship before society and fortune, who  _ defy _ their circumstance or die. I love you. I would have died to be with you. And you give me a pittance.”

Mary scoffed. She said, “If you would die to be with me, could you do less, and hold me to less of a perfect standard to be with me instead? I’m not going to lie to you, Anne. I’m not going to fawn over you —and I never have, you know I don’t  _ do _ that. You want someone meek and girlish who will look up to you like a goddess—that’s not who I am. That’s never been me. It’s not a  _ pittance _ for me to just be myself.”

“No. I’m not asking you to change who you are. Just love me enough to trust that things will be okay!” Anne said. She grit her teeth. Why couldn’t Mary understand? Why couldn’t she  _ see _ ? “You’re hurting me. This  _ hurts _ me, having this conversation over and over again, and then to have nothing change. It hurts me when you allow your family to treat me —and the concept of us!—the way they do, and you choose not to intervene. It hurts me that you don’t tell them about our engagement. It makes me feel like you don’t care.”

“Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you? Would we still be here —would my family  _ know of your existence _ —if I didn’t love you? I’ve tested their boundaries. I try to reject the life they want for me, but I can’t leave them forever. I can’t give up my family, my friends, and the lifestyle I want for you, and  it’s not fair for you to ask that of me. I’ve sacrificed as much as I can.”

Anne bit her tongue until she tasted blood. She never asked Mary to sacrifice any of that. This entire time, if she had known —well. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference. She was a fool.

“Was your plan to string me along forever?” Anne whispered. She fought to keep the malice from her voice. 

“‘String you along?’ I don’t—”

Anne didn’t wait for her to finish. She seethed at Mary’s confusion, her inability to see the agony written plainly across her face. She indulged in her anger, and spat, “You know the  _ only  _ thing I’ve ever wanted from you is for you to be my wife.  _ You accepted my proposal! _ ”

Anne hated the way her voice cracked at the end. Mary sighed.

“I told you more than once—I  _ want  _ to commit to you in that way. I want to, but it’s not—the timing isn’t—ugh, you need to be patient for my family to come around to you.”

“And what about you? Do  _ you  _ need endless patience, or are you fine with the way things are?”

Mary’s silence told her all she needed to know.

Anne blinked back tears. She said, “Go on, Mary. You can pack your things and leave.”

“Leave?” Mariana sputtered. “You’d put me out on the street? Seriously?”

“I know you’ve still got that flat in York—I’ve known for as long as you’ve been living here, don’t look so surprised—you’re not on the street. We can’t live with each other when we’re like this, we’ve tried. It never works.”

“And when youre the one helping me move it all back in? You’ll feel foolish,” Mary said reproachfully.

“No. We’re done for good this time. I’m too old for this.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mary spat, slamming the door shut behind her. 

When Mary closed the door, Anne thought about rushing next door and falling into Ann’s arms, finally free. Anne didn’t feel free. Instead, she felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped a hole in her stomach. She felt sick, starving, and full all at once. 

Anne collapsed on the cold kitchen tile and wept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Hello listen I KNOW that was really sad and you waited a very long time, but I promise that the next chapter--which I'm 60% sure will be the last--makes all this worth it. I promise. No more angsty updates in this fic from now on. We're fully unchained now. It's going to be so, so cute. I promise.


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